


baby, you're like lightning in a bottle

by quantumoddity



Series: Jupeter High School AU [1]
Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Juno Steel Tries, M/M, Nureyev tries to make friends, Other, Slow Burn, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking, Undercover Missions, undercover in a high school
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:35:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26112736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quantumoddity/pseuds/quantumoddity
Summary: Peter Nureyev has a new name, a fake identity, a fake life to step into to complete his very first off planet solo mission. Unfortunately, it involves going undercover as a high school student at Oldtown High.And the people he meets there mean his mission will go anything but smoothly.
Relationships: Mick Mercury & Benzaiten Steel & Juno Steel & Sasha Wire, Mick Mercury/Benzaiten Steel, Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Series: Jupeter High School AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2074365
Comments: 49
Kudos: 166





	1. Chapter 1

If he repeated his mission over and over again in his head, he couldn’t fail. 

That’s what Peter Nureyev told himself as he sat on the hard plastic chair, gripping it’s edge with knuckles tighter than they needed to be, his jaw set hard like he was trying to chew something that wouldn’t go down. He would fix his face, smooth his posture, shift his face into the look of unshakable confidence he’d spent so long perfecting but he needed to look nervous right now. He needed to look like a cornered animal. 

Which was convenient, at least. Less work for him. 

Repeat the instructions. Remember the rules. Follow the plan. Don’t fuck up. It sounded so simple and, if Peter believed hard enough, it would be. _First rule of thieving, belief in your own skills is half the battle._

There was a secretary at a desk across from him, taking up most of what little room there was in the anteroom to the office. She was mostly focused on her computer screen, typing or tiredly slapping the flat of her hand against it when it glitched out, but every so often she’d give him a sympathetic glance. The kind of glance you’d naturally give a clearly underfed, scrawny teenager, starting a brand new school in the dead centre of the roughest part of Oldtown, with his too big, second hand clothes, scuffing his worn trainers against the carpet. The kind of glance that said _oh you poor thing, you have no idea what you’re in for._

If only she knew, Peter thought with a dry amusement. If only she knew just how far he’d travelled, how out of his element he was right now, how he’d simultaneously faced things so much worse than a high school and was so deeply terrified by it. If she saw everything in his cheap rucksack that weren’t school supplies; the long range signal device, the pen drive stuffed full of the galaxy’s most insidious malware, the plasma knife, all carefully concealed amongst the notebooks and pens and pencils. Peter wondered how her face would change then. 

It was as if remembering it was there had reminded him what he was here to do and the nerves welled up fresh, like a wound had been prodded. His heart began to thud in his thin chest, his palms began to prickle with heat, the old tic he’d been trying so hard to suppress made his knee bounce. Peter tried to tell himself it would be fine, talking himself through the plan, repeating the mission again and again as if to prove to himself that he knew it by heart. As if simply remembering the words Mag had left him with would be the same as pulling off his very first solo, off planet job.

 _First rule of thieving, don’t go into a gig you aren’t ready for._ Mag was a pragmatist, he’d always been the one sensibly pouring water on Peter’s fervour, after all, making their risks calculated and manageable. And so much was riding on this, the work Peter did here would open up whole new streams of income for them back on Brahma, so much more fuel for the fight. With everything invested in it, the ticket to Mars, the accomodation for a month, the effort to build Peter a fake life solid enough to get him enrolled in a government funded high school, there was no room to play it fast and loose. If Mag said his apprentice was ready for this, then it had to be true. When had he ever steered him wrong?

Peter allowed himself a sigh, one that the secretary wouldn’t hear or, if she did, she’d chalk it up to the understandable anxiousness of the new kid. He’d come a long way from the first time he’d stolen an apple from a stall under Mag’s careful eye. 

To keep himself focused, he played a game. Peter did that a lot, he found himself uncomfortable with any time not consumed by some useful distraction. It was why he always listened to the radio as he fell asleep, no matter how many times Mag threatened to take the power brick out of it. He just couldn’t stand idle silence. So he pushed his glasses up his nose and took a quick study of the secretary’s desk to see what information he could glean about her. 

His brain worked fast, plucking the bits of information out greedily. Family picture, wife, three children. Notes on her desk, the numbers of different homes for the elderly in Hyperion. Infirm parents and an upcoming heavy drain on her finances, then. Her nails were long but the polish was chipping, like she drummed them on her desk frequently. A short temper or just stressed? More likely the latter, she’d been kind to him so far. Or at least as kind as someone who worked in a place where she must see a hundred neglected, underweight kids with clear signs of poverty could afford to be without going insane. Her desk had no signs of organisation whatsoever, not so much as a sticky note to pin a flag in that riot of loose papers. So she was distracted, under pressure and clearly prone to losing track of information. 

Peter thought he could drain the full contents of her bank account within a month. 

Obviously, thinking that didn’t make him feel good and he’d never actually do it. But he could feel how proud Mag would be, if he brought him all of that from just a minute of observation, her whole life mapped out in a blueprint. How he’d smile at him and squeeze his shoulder and remind him of _the first rule of thieving, know how to read your marks in a single glance, a glance might be all you get._ Peter had mastered that one at age seven.

The secretary’s intercom buzzed suddenly and Peter didn’t need to fake his nervous jolt at the harsh, staticy sound. The voice on the other end was too muddy to make out but the secretary lifted her eyes and said, “You can go on through now. Mr Spoor is ready for you.”

Nureyev nodded, scrambling to his feet, patting himself down in a way that would look like he was trying to neaten himself up when in fact, he was deliberately ruffling his hair, yanking down his t-shirt so the frays on the hem would be visible, missing the smudge under his ear. _First rule of thieving, you’re never in such a position of power as when the mark underestimates you._

The principal’s office was pretty meagre but at least had a slight edge on the rest of his run down, underfunded school. The chair Peter sat in was worn through so the stuffing poked out, the desk between them had deep gouges in it that hadn’t been sanded down, the computer to the side of them was an ancient model that Peter could have cracked with his eyes closed. That boded well for the rest of his mission. 

“It’s customary to have these orientation meetings with your guardian present,” the principal's voice was cool and had no trace of a warm welcome in it, not even a greeting. It matched the expression on his craggy face, “I was expecting to meet them.”

“Um…” Peter swallowed hard, shifting uncomfortably, shrinking himself down, “They, uh...my dad...he...he was sick this morning so he couldn’t come.”

There was a lot that could be read into that, half a hundred hidden explanations that, given the catchment area of Oldtown High, Mr Spoor would have seen again and again. So he didn’t press, just giving Peter an unimpressed glance like it was his fault that his non existent father was absent, turning to the screen. 

“Very well then...Peter Ransom, correct?”

“That’s right…” Peter nodded.

“That’s right, _sir.”_

Peter gave a little start, cheeks reddening to come off as merely intimidated and unsure rather than outwardly defiant. As fun as that would be, it wouldn’t make his task any easier, “Sir. Sorry. Sir.”

Mr Spoor likely would have narrowed his lips if they weren’t already worn down to a permanent grimace of disapproval, turning back to the screen and whatever information was on there. Most of it counterfeit, of course. 

“So you were born on the outer rim...passable scores in your previous assessments…”

Peter kept his face impassive, though something roiled inside him. The grades Mag had put together for him were fantastic, he knew that for a certainty, and he could match them with his ability. But he didn’t rise, he didn’t bite. He just looked suitably shy and intimidated, scuffing the toe of his sneaker against the floor, fidgeting with the large, second hand glasses Mag had given him to replace his usual sleek, cat eye ones. 

“You’ll be starting with us as a senior, given your age and...supposed ability. I expect you to maintain an acceptable standard of work, given that you’re joining so late in the year. We cannot afford for you to fall behind,” Mr Spoor continued, looking more at the screen than the child in front of him, “What is it exactly that brings someone from a place like Brahma to a Martian high school?”

Peter swallowed, “My dad got a job on Mars, sir. He said things would be better for us here...that I’d be able to go to a good school and make friends…”

The principal didn’t even try to hide his snort of disdain, deepening Peter’s instantly formed dislike of the man. He must have thought this new student of his was blind, that he hadn’t seen the graffiti covering the front of the building, how the chairs didn’t match in the classrooms he’d passed, how the books were dog eared and the floors permanently scuffed. Did he enjoy seeing these children clearly born just after the war, with their tattered families and nightmares of a time they could only half remember, crossing the galaxy for something close to a life worth living, coming through his school and being ground down just like the rest of them? Did he find it amusing, seeing a boy who’d grown up scared of the sky itself daring to hope that things might be better here?

Again, Peter repeated his mission in his head. 

“We might as well take you on,” Mr Spoor said, as if he didn’t particularly care one way or the other, “I’m sure you’ll fit right in with our other students.” The way he said it made it sound neither reassuring or like a positive. 

“Thank you, sir,” Peter feigned a mix of relief, excitement and fear, “I promise I’ll work really hard and do really well.”

The look Mr Spoors gave him made him wonder how he’d like a plasma knife at his throat but, thankfully, it was brief, soon replaced by dismissal, “You’ll begin classes after lunch. Go wait outside again and my secretary will give you your timetable.”

With more breathless, slightly panicked enthusiasm, Peter retreated, looking forward to rewarding himself with a momentary, bitter scowl in between the door closing and approaching the secretary. 

But, as it happened, he never got the chance. Because there was now another student was occupying the same chair he’d been sitting on. And Peter’s heart stopped dead for a moment, for a number of reasons. 

One, the kid's face was covered in blood. Splatters of it radiated out from a nose that was now swollen and tender, from a lip that was messily split, and Peter knew enough of basic field medicine to know his left eye would be black and purple and swollen nearly shut the next day. The fists angrily clenched in his lap had split knuckles too, just to complete the image. 

Two, the face beneath the gore was beautiful. 

Peter steadied himself, swallowing hard and taking the seat next to his new schoolmate. Almost immediately, the uninjured eye fixed a glare on him so sharp and vicious that Peter promptly shifted to the next chair along. 

He knew the over eager, overcompensating new student he was supposed to be playing would immediately try to make friends, stick his hand out in the gap between them and introduce himself in a too loud, too sunny voice as Peter Ransom. Probably to be met with another glare and possibly a punch to the face, given how much he was twitching with what was clearly post-fight adrenaline. But for some reason, he couldn’t quite manage it so they sat in a frosty silence, punctuated only by the secretary's nails tapping on her computer keys and the steady drip of blood from his nose to the floor. 

Still, Peter had a thief’s curiosity. He stole enough glances at the other kid to glean a little bit about him. He were his age, though shorter and stockier by nature, with an anger naturally set into his face that poor newbie Peter Ransom would never feel. His hair was a mess of black curls, piled on top of his head and shaved underneath, his ear held numerous piercings he was clearly too young to have acquired legally or hygienically. That surely wouldn’t be permitted by the dress code Peter had studied avidly along with the schematics of the school, the faculty list and every other piece of information he’d been able to get about Oldtown High, determined to do a good and thorough job. The code would probably have had something to say about his combat boots that were a size too big, his fishnet tights and short skirt, his sleeveless shirt with, incongruously, a picture of a cartoon man on it and the bright, bubbly text reading ‘ _Turbo!_ ’. There had probably been bigger misdemeanours to think about at the time than a dress code violation. 

“What the hell are you staring at?”

Peter jumped at the rough, angry voice, realising the kid was scowling right at him. His face was clearly made for that expression; Peter had faced down armed guards, lasers from the clouds, jobs that would have landed him in jail for ten times the years he’d been alive but he’d seldom felt so intimidated. 

And people didn’t normally notice him looking. After all, _first rule of thieving, your eyes are your greatest weapon, don’t be obvious when you use them._

“I...nothing, I’m not…” he searched for a response, glad it was in Ransom’s nature to be easily put off. 

“Do I look like the kind of guy you want to mess with right now?” the scowl deepened, sending a fresh line of blood running down his chin from his broken lip.

“Um...no,” Peter decided it was better to give simple answers.

“Yeah,” he gave a dry snort with no humour in it, “So keep your eyes to yourself or lose them, pal.”

Blood, angry tones and threats didn’t scare Peter Nureyev but they weren’t the reason he looked away hastily and was glad of it. It had more to do with dark eyes, holding depths he knew he’d never open up with just a glance, a faded white scar across a flat nose that he thought he’d like to trace with the very tip of his finger, full lips that looked soft somehow even as they were curled in anger. 

Peter gave himself a mental slap, repeating his mission again, louder and firmer. He could practically hear Mag laughing at him all the way from Brahma. 

_First rule of thieving, stop mooning after every pretty boy who so much as glances at you, Pete! How many times do I have to tell you?_

He had to admit, he’d been hoping for a smoother start on his first off planet solo mission. 

Fortunately, the secretary spoke up not long after, “Peter? Peter Ransom?”

He jumped to his feet, receiving a few papers from her. A class schedule, a map and an outline of expected behaviour. Peter had seen all of this and far, far more in his research but he made sure Ransom looked at it with apprehension, as if it was written in another language. 

“And for you, Mr Steel, another detention slip,” her voice took on a kind of fond, bemused exhaustion, “Add it to the collection.”

The other student jumped up and swiped the pink piece of paper from her hands, stuffing it carelessly in the pocket of his skirt, “Thanks, Brenda.” 

She rolled her eyes and turned to Peter, “It’s lunchtime at the moment, I’m sure Mr Steel here would be happy to show you to the cafeteria.”

Instantly, Mr Steel stiffened and shot her an exasperated look which she soundly ignored, turning back to her computer screen in a manner that suggested he could stand and look at her like that all day, for all she cared. Eventually, he gave a growl and stomped out of the office, down the corridor. Peter followed, pausing in the doorway to give him a chance to storm off and leave him behind. 

There was no hiding his surprise when, after a few seconds, he snapped, “Are you coming or what?”

Peter did. 

Nureyev knew every inch of the hallways but of course Ransom didn’t, so he fixed an expression of wary awe on his face. There were some things that didn’t take a lot of effort, like the swear word carved into one locker that he’d never even heard of or when the sound of a muffled explosion shook the floor above them where the science rooms were. They passed other students, who shot unsurprised looks at the state of Steel and appraised him like a piece of fresh meat in a butcher’s. Peter would have loved the chance to try his knife or his wits against one of them, he’d long ago learned to make up for the scrawny appearance that made them look at him so hungrily. 

Stick to the mission. Follow the instructions. Do your job. 

Abruptly, Steel stopped, without turning around, “Cafeteria’s down that way. See you.”

Peter blinked, glancing at the double doors he was indicating with a thumb, which were practically shaking out of their frames with the sound of what had to be a riot behind them, “Aren’t you eating too?”

“What’s it to you, pal?” Juno did turn then, just enough to fix him with an incredulous look. 

Before Peter had to come up with an answer, they were interrupted by a loud shout of, “Juno!”

Peter thought his eyes were playing tricks on him for a moment, an exact copy of Steel was bounding down some stairs to their left. Except this one was smiling, a hundred kilowatt grin, and wearing leggings, an oversize sweatshirt and sneakers that flashed when they hit the floor. 

“Oh god, Juno, your face is a mess,” he grimaced at the sight of his twin’s face, “Jones did a number on you, huh?”

“‘Bout half the number I did on them, they got carted off to the emergency room,” Steel, now Juno, grunted, still stiff and awkward, throwing glances in Peter’s direction.

“I’m sure they deserved it,” the other Steel shrugged, turning their grin on Peter, “Hey! I’m Benzaiten, you can call me Ben or Benten. You new?”

“Um, yes! I just started today actually, I...I’m from off planet and…”

“That’s cool! You can tell us more over lunch,” Ben’s tidal wave of positivity bowled over him, reaching out and squeezing his shoulder. 

Both Juno and Peter froze. 

“Over _what_ now?”

“Uh, that’s kind of you but...um, I don’t know if I…”

“He’s new, Juno, of course he’s coming to sit with us!” Ben shrugged, like the matter was obvious. 

Juno was staring daggers at his twin, looking ready to throttle him, “The guy says he’s fine, so he’s fine.”

“Come on, Juno, don’t be a bitch,” Ben laughed fondly, like he didn’t see that his twin was gritting his teeth hard enough to shatter, “We’d better get moving, Mick and Sasha will already be waiting…”

He turned on his neon flashing heel and bounced down the hall in the complete opposite direction to the cafeteria, not waiting for them. Juno groaned and pressed his fingertips to his temples like he was trying to ward off a migraine. After what was clearly him counting backwards from ten, he frowned and set off after his brother. 

“Come or don’t come,” he growled over his shoulder at Peter, “I couldn’t care less.”

For a moment, neither Nureyev nor Ransom really knew what to do. He repeated his mission again in his head. 

_Blend in. Sneak in after dark. Find the evidence. Upload the malware. Send it to Mag. Run._

Nowhere in that list did it say follow a beautiful, angry stranger and his bubblegum brother god only knew where. In fact, Peter was pretty sure they fell squarely under the definition of a distraction, something he knew to avoid. He knew what the sensible choice was, the decision someone who could be trusted with missions like this, who would work tirelessly to be the best thief he could be, would make. 

But...wouldn’t this count as blending in?

Armed with that flimsy excuse, Peter followed Juno Steel. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter Nureyev is wondering what he's doing here and why this group of misfits seems to be pulling him in

_ First rule of thieving, hiding something under the floorboards is as bad as putting it on a pedestal surrounded by flashing lights. First rule of thieving, don’t just have one planned exit, have ten. First rule of thieving, a smile and a joke can open some doors money can’t. First rule of thieving, doors are merely suggestions. First rule of thieving, be in bed before ten or I’m taking your comms off you, Pete, don’t try me. _

Peter ran through every rule he could remember, every little pearl of wisdom or dry sarcasm he’d ever heard Mag say, smugly while they were on a job that was going well, whispered while they were sneaking through somewhere they weren’t supposed to be and had to be quiet, panted breathlessly as they were fleeing the scene of the crime, pronounced with a soft fondness back home after a successful gig, Peter sat reading at Mag’s feet, Mag’s hand coming down on his shoulder to give it a proud squeeze. Hundreds of first rules and he’d remembered them all. 

And not a single one justified what he was doing right now. 

He’d fallen behind the Steel twins as they walked through the corridors, Ben sometimes throwing a smile over his shoulder to him, Juno doing the same with suspicious scowls. Everything Peter Nureyev had been taught told him to go back the other way, find somewhere quiet to sit amongst the other students and play the role he’d built so fastitiously and shown off so proudly, promising to do a good job. And then, as soon as the day ended, he could begin the real work. Done in three days, back on Brahma before the week was out. Back home, clutching the proof that he was ready to do whatever it might take to fight for his planet. 

And maybe make the weight on his shoulders a little lighter. 

So why was he following these guys, one of whom seemed to actively despise him, going who knew where to do who knew what? Peter hadn’t quite figured that out yet, in spite of his growing army of doubts. And he wasn’t turning back either. 

“I thought we were going to lunch?” he ventured, like he could just ask the right questions and he’d realise why his brain appeared to have fallen out the back of his skull, “Isn’t the cafeteria back that way?”

Ben gave a twirl and walked backwards so he could answer, apparently not caring if he crashed into anything, trusting Juno would jerk him out of the way, “It is. But us cool kids have a way better place to eat.”

“Where?” Peter asked apprehensively. He now realised they’d moved into corridors with empty, silent classrooms, with no other students loitering against the walls. Had he walked right into some trap? Were they about to jump him? Ben had a nice smile, he’d hate to have to shatter it. 

“You’ll see,” Ben only grinned mysteriously, before Juno roughly yanked him back the right way so he would see he’d been about to but his foot right in a janitor’s bucket. 

Peter sighed and shifted his backpack so he’d be able to free his knife more easily. So much for making friends and blending in. Maybe this would teach him to stick to the goddamn plan. 

Luckily he wasn’t planning to stick around until detention. 

Eventually they reached the very far corner of the school and saw two other students standing by a fire exit. One was an almost comically tall young man, taller even than Peter, long dreadlocks pulled back from his face by a band, both jeans and shirt ripped in places and stained with what looked like machine grease. The other was a girl with her black hair cut short and rather severe, the plain clothes and tight line of her jaw making her look thoroughly like someone not to be messed with. 

Ben gave a shout of delight as soon as he saw them and took off at a run, throwing himself into the arms of the tall kid, who caught him and immediately kissed him fiercely, a little more than two people with an audience should really kiss. 

Juno groaned and the girl rolled her eyes, saying, “You guys have only been apart for one period, you do realise that? You don’t have to act like one of you was lost at sea.”

“You know what they’re like, Sasha,” Juno grunted, approaching at a much more leisurely pace. 

“Disgusting?”

“Hey!” Ben drew back, the tall boy’s face now thoroughly stained with his lipstick, “An hour’s a long time, it’s relative!” 

“I’m your fucking  _ relative _ ,” Juno shot back, “And making me watch you suck Mick’s face every five seconds ought to be some kind of crime.”

“Since when have we cared what’s a crime and what isn’t?” the tall guy, evidently Mick, asked with an endearing sincerity. 

“Speaking of which, let’s get going,” the girl, Sasha, got to her feet, “I’m starving.”

Peter stood, waiting for one of them to ask who the hell he was or what he thought he was doing here. They all interacted with the practised ease he’d seen in people who’d known each other for a very long time, who’d been through a lot together and had proven trust to be easily traded back and forth. And he was the outsider, the unfamiliar face. Not a feeling he was unaccustomed to, not by a long shot, but he was used to it coming along with hostile looks and questions. 

But neither Sasha nor Mick even questioned his presence. Mick was far more preoccupied with Ben in his arms and Sasha merely glanced at him and then at Juno. Juno’s frown only deepend and his eyes went to Ben accusingly. To Sasha, that seemed to answer everything. 

Peter kept his face impassive, like he hadn’t seen any of it. Though his heart seemed to sit lower in his chest than before. 

“If you’re done scarring us all?” Juno raised an eyebrow at Mick and Ben. 

“Sure,” Ben smiled primly and hopped back onto his own two feet, addressing Peter now, “There’s security guards that patrol the grounds but they’re lazy and their routines are so obvious it’s really embarrassing. All we have to do is run from here to the fence, jump it and be gone in five minutes. Easy peasy, yeah?”

Peter could only stand there and gape, “And...this is us going to lunch?”

Ben gave a bark of laughter, punching him in the arm again. He seemed to do that a lot. 

“I love this guy! Hey, all you gotta do is keep up. Eyes on us, keep moving and you’ll be fine.”

Sasha already had the fire door open to the strange but not entirely unexpected absence of any alarm. She poked her head through the small gap, looking this way and that with a practised, almost military eye that Peter would envy if he wasn’t so sure of himself. 

“Okay, it’s all clear. Let’s move,” she motioned them through, taking off at a run. 

Ben and Mick followed, hand in hand. For a few moments it was just him and Juno, Peter wondering awkwardly if he should say something and what that something might be until the chance was gone and Juno ran after his friends without even a glance in his direction. 

Last chance. He could turn and walk in the opposite direction now, the smoothest extraction he was likely to get. He could just avoid them tomorrow, get his head down, focus on his job and, after that, he’d never see any of them again. It wouldn’t matter. 

And there was something about that fact that Peter couldn’t stand. So he ran. 

Peter had learned a long time ago that he’d never win if the contest was purely based on strength so he’d gotten very good at running and running fast. And over the cracked, hard baked playing fields that were more crumbling dirt than actual grass, he practically flew towards the tall, barbed wire topped fencing that surrounded the school and made it look more like a prison than anything Peter had seen in streams about high school. By the time he was close enough to see, he caught Mick’s sneaker disappearing behind one of the buildings that surrounded the school, mostly businesses long closed down and housing with boarded up windows. And Juno had just reached the bottom of the fence and the scrabby, overgrown bushes that fringed it, ready to jump. 

In his head, Peter had been keeping a count ever since Ben had told them they had five minutes to make their escape.  _ First rule of thieving, time is your best friend and your worst enemy so know how to keep an eye on it.  _ There was just over a minute remaining. 

With a grace that startled Peter, Juno scaled the fence, stamping down the barbed wire with one boot so he could lever himself over without so much as snagging his tights. He was just about to start on his way down when the two of them froze simultaneously at the same sound, above the distant noise of the city and the roads and the faint hollering from the school. These were voices, much more immediate, much closer, just from the other side of the wilting shrubbery. And getting closer by the second. 

Juno cursed gruffly and eyed Peter, scrawny, anxious newbie Peter Ransom, just coming to the bottom of the fence, still with a climb and a tangle of rusty but still wicked metal to content with. For a moment, it was crystal clear what was about to happen. Juno would give him one last sneer then drop to the other side and run, leaving Peter to be caught by the security guards and dragged to detention. It was the only thing that made sense. 

But it seemed like Peter wasn’t the only one who wasn’t following the rules. After half a beat, he held out his hand, reaching down to the guy he’d been growling at all day. 

“Will you hurry up?” he snapped, voice an angry hiss but his arm outstretched. 

Peter’s eyes widened, having to pause and check he was actually seeing what he thought he was seeing. And then he frowned. 

Quick as a squirrel, he dug his fingers into the links of the fence and scrambled up without so much as a stumble, moving so swiftly and deftly that all he had to do was vault himself over the wire and land with all the flair of a gymnast. And then it was Juno’s turn to drop his jaw. 

“Will you  _ please _ hurry up?” Peter asked politely before running in the direction he’d seen Mick go. 

Not the smartest thing he’d ever done. Definitely one of the smuggest. Hardly in character. But Peter couldn’t deny that the look in Juno’s eyes and the half second before he heard him climb down and run after him was incredibly satisfying. 

Apparently what that daring escape had been in service of was an abandoned alleyway that the friends had turned into some kind of fort. Crates had been stacked up like walls, a sagging tarpaulin that looked like it had once been part of a display on a storefront would keep off the simulated rain, ratty fabrics had been strung up between the crates and another fence, shielded with broken down cardboard boxes provided seating and a trash can that had clearly held many fires inside it’s buckled and blackened skin was set down in the centre. 

When Nureyev arrived, Ben and Mick were already sharing one of those improvised hammocks. Ben laughed in delight when he saw him duck under the roof that still advertised 50% off who knew what. 

“I knew you’d make it!” Ben grinned, nearly tipping both him and Mick onto the filthy ground in his eagerness to give Peter a high five. 

“I saw how fast you were running,” Mick agreed, gripping the neck of his boyfriend’s sweatshirt and the fence so he didn’t tumble, “That was way cool.”

“He did fine,” behind Peter came a sour growl that told him Juno had entered just behind him. If he’d been hoping for some kind of grudging respect or acceptance after what happened back at the fence, it was clear he’d be disappointed, “Where’s Sasha?”

“Getting lunch,” Ben collapsed back against Mick’s chest, either not seeing or deliberately ignoring his twin’s foul mood. 

Juno grunted, collapsing into a hammock of his own. Peter realised he should take a seat too but he wasn’t sure where exactly. It was pretty impressive, as far as dens made of garbage in dank smelling alleyways went. Clearly they’d been coming here a long time, improving it slowly over time, adding and expanding. But something about it’s cobbled together half comforts reminded Peter too much of years he’d rather forget. Years when places like this had been all he’d had to call home. 

But that was Peter Nureyev’s past, not Peter Ransom’s. Ransom didn’t have a lifespan beyond nine am that morning and three pm on Friday. Outside of that handful of days, he didn’t exist. As long as he wore that name, he didn’t have those memories. 

So he sat himself down on an overturned trash can, folding his legs under himself and pretending to listen while Ben teased his brother, Juno bit back, and Mick interjected occasionally with his unique kind of empty headed sincerity. 

Almost ten minutes passed and Sasha didn’t return though no one but Peter seemed to notice. 

Eventually he cleared his throat, “Uh...there’s ten minutes before next period.”

“And?” Juno raised an eyebrow.

Ben rolled his eyes at his brother and shrugged to Peter, “We’ve always seen our schedules more as suggestions than hard and fast rules, y’know? We’ll slip in sometime before the last lesson. No one notices as long as you come back at some point.”

Peter bit his lip. He wasn’t sure how he felt about a plan that was optional. Whenever he was given a place to be and a time to be there, he took it seriously. Thieves who didn’t soon found themselves in prison. Or, on Brahma, worse. Even now, years since he’d lacked the skills to avoid it, he felt his chest tighten and a creeping sense of alarm making him glance nervously at the sky around nine at night. That was the curfew imposed by New Kinshasa.

“You can head back if you want? We don’t mind?”

Mick’s voice had quietened and, for the first time since he’d met him, his eyes weren’t on Benzaiten. He was letting the brothers continue their squabbling and looking to Peter instead, his eyes concerned and kind. 

Peter swallowed and shook his head. As deep in as he already was, he’d rather stay amongst the people who smiled at him like that. And it wasn’t like there was much to preserve in Peter Ransom’s attendance record, seeing as he wouldn’t exist in a week. 

Eventually Sasha reappeared again, coming right over the fence and dropping into their midsts, holding paper bags in both hands. On them was the logo for a fast food joint Peter always saw in streams but had never made it to the backwater planets like Brahma. 

“They really should invest in better security. They’re a gazillion cred company, you’d think they’d be able to afford a guard on the door,” she tossed her short hair and started distributing parcels that smelled of grease, salt and unhealthy levels of goodness. 

“Hope not,” Juno mumbled around a mouthful of meat and cheese, “I’m not about to start paying for this crap.”

“Food only tastes good if it’s free,” Ben nodded in agreement. 

Sasha dropped one of the bags in Nureyev’s lap, “Sorry, I didn’t know what you liked so I just went for a cheeseburger and fries. That okay?”

Peter had to remind himself of his current last name to chase away the tightness in his throat. Peter Ransom had never gone hungry. Peter Ransom had never spent days not knowing where his next meal was coming from. Peter Ransom had no reason to want to cry at someone just handing him food like he was worthy of it. 

“Yeah, that’s great. Thanks.”

The rest of it was all in jokes Peter didn’t understand, references to people he didn’t know and places he’d never been. Mick seemed to do a lot of the talking, he had a storyteller’s kind of cadence and a way of gesturing as he spoke to snag attention easily. Peter had heard enough bullshit in his life and had studied enough about Hyperion to not believe a single word of the rambling anecdotes he told but they were kind of comforting. So he stayed silent, ate and listened to descriptions of people and places that didn’t exist, letting the food and the scent of the cigarettes they lit warm him through. 

He was so lost in it, it took Ben three attempts to get him to answer and he found himself jumping guiltily, “Sorry, what?”  _ First rule of thieving, always be aware even if you don’t look like it. Especially if you don’t.  _

“I asked if you wanted to come to this party tomorrow night, one of the kids from my math class has their parents out of town and they said anyone’s cool to come,” Ben smiled encouragingly. He hadn’t taken a cigarette when they’d been passed round. Peter knew if he focused and thought, he’d have been able to work out why but something about that seemed wrong now. 

Instead he bit his lip and answered, “Sure. Yeah, that sounds fun.” He could just say he was sick when the time came. 

“Awesome! Anyway, what do you have last period, we’ll tell you where to head once we get back.”

Peter fished for the now creased and folded schedule he’d been given that morning, “Uh...Earth History?”

“No way!” Ben’s grin widened, “So does Juno! You guys can walk over there together and he can show you his notes. They’re shit but it’s a start.”

Over in his corner, Juno coughed and hacked for a reason that didn’t have anything to do with his cigarette. He shot Ben a scandalised look, thin grey trails trickling from his nose, “Benzaiten…”

Unconcerned, he met Juno's eyes. It really was scary how similar they were, past the dyed hair and the piercings, how they could hold the exact same fierceness. Benten just did it more subtly. 

“What? That’s your class. Ransom doesn’t know where he’s going and he’s never taken the subject before. Why wouldn’t you help him?”

There was a tense moment, where Sasha and Mick shared an anxious look and Peter wanted to shrink down into his oversized shirt and disappear. But it was only a moment. Juno looked away with his jaw set in resignation and Ben continued smiling like nothing had happened. He just jumped up, pulling Mick along with him. 

“So! Let’s head back.”

The way back was far more leisurely than their breakneck escape. No one cared when you were coming back to the place you were supposed to be. 

Still seething, Juno put as much distance as he could between himself and Peter without being belligerently obvious about it. Which was all well and good, if you believed distance was the only factor in someone overhearing you. If you believed the kid you were mad at for some inexplicable reason was just a regular kid and not someone who’d been trained in finding out things people didn’t want him to know since the age of six. 

Back in school, with the corridors silent except for the muffled noise behind the classroom doors, Mick and Sasha went off in their own directions, leaving just the three of them. Seeing that Juno clearly had no intention of walking to Earth History with him, Peter just gave them both a quick goodbye, saving grace by saying he needed to get something from his locker before class started. 

He didn’t even know where his locker was. 

From around the corner, tucked into the space between two banks of the regular metal cupboards, Peter could hear every word of the brothers’ conversation. 

Almost as soon as he’d gone beyond the corner, he heard Juno round on his twin, “What the fuck is your-”

“I was going to ask you the same thing!” Benten didn’t let him finish, his voice tenser than it had ever been in front of Peter, “God, Juno, the kid’s done nothing wrong! He just needs some friends and you’re acting like such a bitch!”

“Come on,” Juno sounded uncomfortable in the face of Ben’s exasperation. Peter got the feeling, just from his voice, that upsetting his twin wasn’t something he made a habit of, “It’s not just that. I see the look on your face, the whole ‘ooh, Juno, why don’t you walk the new kid to class, ooh Juno let’s invite the new kid to the party’ schtick…”

“Well, enlighten me then,” Ben countered, softening a little too, “Because I’m confused. Someone showing up, looking like he does...Juno, I know you, you should have stuck your tongue down his throat by now! You’ve done it before with people way less good looking and nice than Ransom, you two would actually be good together! Is this a new weird way of flirting or something?”

In his hiding place, Peter swallowed hard and felt his face heat up. The immature thoughts he’d had when he first saw Juno made themselves known, skittering not entirely unpleasantly in his stomach. Until Juno’s words froze them. 

“First off, rude. Second of all...look, I just can’t stand the guy. Something about him just...it doesn’t feel right. Like he’s hiding something. And I want to find out what it is.”

He decided he’d heard enough, walking away quickly, not even sure if it was the way he was supposed to be going or not. To his shame, Peter felt tears building hotly in his eyes. Whether it was because he’d derailed his job for a pretty face who couldn’t bear the sight of him or because he was ashamed of how he’d allowed himself to be taken in and slip up so dangerously or just because he was sick of being here where he didn’t understand anything, Peter didn’t know. But he knew what he had to do now. 

He had to complete his mission and get the hell away from Mars and Juno Steel as fast as he could. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's been so long since I updated! teaching during Covid times is a trip. 
> 
> -
> 
> Peter Nureyev can't abide a puzzle he can't solve. And Juno Steel is the toughest puzzle he's ever encountered.

After one lesson of Earth History, Peter found himself glad that he wouldn’t be taking any real examinations at this school. How a teacher could make the home planet of their entire species, the epicentre of their system spanning civilisation, now half ravaged by millenia of pollution and half the playground of the galaxy’s richest trillionaires, sound painfully dull, he didn’t know. But between a teacher that napped in between paragraphs of his monotone lectures and textbooks that were illegible behind layers of graffiti older than the students, they had managed it. Mag’s lessons had been nothing like this. 

And it didn’t help that someone up there had decided to really screw with him. In between taking long sips from a coffee cup that definitely didn’t have coffee in it, the teacher sat this new kid in the only available empty chair. Right next to Juno Steel. 

If the look on his face was anything to go by, Peter’s new friend wasn’t happy about it either. He was scowling so hard throughout the whole lesson, it was a wonder he didn’t have wrinkles at eighteen. Peter felt every blistering wave of hostility, whenever he dared do so much as breathe, shift his pen, edge his elbow even a centimeter closer to Juno’s. 

And the cherry on the top of this almost unbearably painful hour of mind numbing, pointless fact retention and being stared down by a set of suspicious, angry eyes was the part of Peter’s mind still just stuck on how attractive Juno was. 

Sometimes Peter wished he could reach into his own body, stuff his hormones into a very cramped box, lock it in chains and throw away the key. 

But finally an ear splitting bell rang out and the students lurched to their feet with a communal groan of relief, not waiting for any kind of dismissal. Peter sweeped his notebook and pen into his rucksack, grateful to finally be able to get his mission over with and get off this planet with it’s suffocating schools and confusingly hot kids his age who hated him. Then he could remind himself that he was a thief with a cause and no other concerns beyond that cause. 

Certainly not soft golden brown eyes and painted pink lips that still had dried blood smudged on them and hands that he bet would be soft underneath the split knuckles and calluses. 

Peter stamped down hard on that thought, reminding himself of one of Mag’s more joking rules that he hadn’t taken seriously until now. 

_ First rule of thieving, a pretty face is the most dangerous thing in the whole damn universe.  _

Nureyev made as swift an exit as he could manage, made easier by the fact that the hundreds of other kids in Oldtown High were as eager to get to the doors as he was. As he lost himself in the crowd filing down the stairways, he went over the plan. 

He would go to the apartment Mag had acquired for him under the name of Peter Ransom’s non-existent father, go over his tools until dark fell and then come back to the school once the coast was clear. From there it would be easy. Break into the principal’s office, find the incriminating files on his computer, the ones that proved the school was being used to launder money by corrupt government officials, upload the malware that would snatch the files and carry them back to Mag on Brahma. Then call him and hear the pride in his voice after Peter announced his first off planet, solo mission had been a complete and total success. 

Then leave and never feel the ever present dust of this damn planet on his skin ever again. 

Peter’s imagined elation at the thought of it lasted until he walked out of the doors. At first the bright sun, unfiltered by any atmosphere, was all he could see but once he adjusted, he saw the line of vans parked on the front courtyard of the school. The ones with a large, garish cartoon of a giant bug on its back with crosses for eyes all plastered on the sides. 

And the second he took to stop and consider this was all it took. 

“Ransom! There you are!” 

Peter jumped and turned to see Ben just skidding to a halt next to him, his face still split into the wide grin that was starting to seem like his trademark. And, of course, slouching and scowling behind him, his brother. 

Dredging up Ransom’s innocent, grateful smile at seeing his friends was hard in that moment but he managed, “Hi! Sorry, I didn’t know you’d be looking for me…”

“Just wanted to say bye!” Ben grinned, bouncing slightly even as he stood in place like he just couldn’t help it, “Unless you walk our way? We’re going over in that direction.” He pointed hopefully, off towards where most of the cheap housing was in this part of the city, apparently immune to the exasperated glare from his twin.

Mercifully, Nureyev didn’t have to lie, “No, sorry. I live above one of the stores off main street. Other end of Oldtown.” 

“Aw,” Ben’s disappointment was disarmingly genuine, so much that Nureyev felt a genuine pinch of regret, “We’ll see you tomorrow though!”

“Yeah!” now that lie felt strangely uncomfortable on his tongue, the regret not shifting, “Um...what are those vans, sorry? Just wondering.”

Ben looked over at them, “Oh! Right, you missed morning announcements. The school’s got a hell of a bad rat problem, they’re all in the walls. So the exterminators are locking the school down overnight, flooding the place with gas and trying to get them under control. Must be a hell of a job, they’re gonna be doing it for the rest of the week. ”

Nureyev’s stomach sank to the bottom of his shoes, “Wait...overnight? You mean all night? Every night? For a  _ week? _ ”

“Yeah,” Ben cocked his head, a little confused at his reaction, “Don’t worry, the rats don’t come out during the day. Good thing too, with those six eyes and teeth the length of your arm, they’d pick off the freshmen for lunch.”

Nureyev shook himself, realising he was behaving like an ameture, “They, ah...they don’t get that big on Brahma…” 

“Welcome to Mars,” Juno grunted, scuffing the toe of his boot against the step. 

Nureyev sleep walked through their goodbyes, letting his feet trace the already memorised route between the school and the apartment, not knowing what else to do. He couldn’t get into the school for a week without choking on rat poison. 

So he was stranded. With nothing to do but attend high school. He could have screamed. 

_ Remember the first rule. _

Peter carried those words as he walked to school the next morning, feeling them the way a necklace that was just a little too big would rest lightly against his chest. Not a weight but noticeable. Enough that he couldn’t put it from his mind. 

It was all the reply he’d gotten from Mag after he’d made his first nightly report, updating him on the disappointing turn of events last afternoon. The only way he could message his mentor without any kind of traceable risk was through the burner comms he’d been sent to Mars with, an old, clunky model that could only send the most basic text signals, no more detail than was absolutely necessary. Short messages were harder to track, especially across so much empty space.

He knew that but, still, it hadn’t been an awful lot of comfort, only getting a handful of words printed in eye aching green on the too small screen as he’d sat alone in the barren apartment on his thin fold out bed. He’d tried to read them with Mag’s gruff, friendly voice in his mind but it wasn’t the same and Peter had fallen asleep with the same bitter, disappointed hollow in his chest that had opened up when he’d realised he wouldn’t be going home for far longer than he’d imagined. 

But this morning he’d called himself a childish fool and reminded himself why he was here. No matter what it took, Peter Nureyev would do the job he’d been sent to do. Would his father have spent an unprofitable evening sulking because the cause had asked for a few more days? Would Mag? 

So he’d shouldered his bag, checked his disguise twice over in the mirror and set off for Oldtown High with those words carried in his heart. He hadn’t needed to ask which rule the message had been talking about, it was the one Mag had repeated the most, the one Peter struggled with more than any other. 

_ First rule of thieving, be patient.  _

Hyperion City never seemed to slow down. It was the same in Brahma’s capital but there was still something staggering about seeing the same busyness, the relentlessness, the noise played out with hundreds, maybe even thousands more people than could even fit on the whole of his tiny home planet. The air was already thick with sharp tastes of smoke, the roads crammed with cars, raised voices echoing on the streets from open apartment windows and shop doors as Peter walked to school at only eight in the morning. Past the slight shimmer of the dome miles above his head, the sun was already baking the city, red dust moving past his legs with every gust of wind. It was going to be a cloudless day, one that smelled of hot sand and the reek of a city. 

Before long, his glasses were smudged, his shirt was stuck to his back and he had a headache. Clearly the main streets weren’t the best way to get to school, even if they were the most direct route. Consulting the map of Oldtown firmly embedded in his memory, Peter cut down one side street and then another to reach the network of back alleyways, wanting at least a few buildings between himself and the relentless honking, smog and cursing that was apparently a feature of the early morning Hyperion commute. He’d take any scrap of peace he could get right now, even if it meant hopping fences and skirting piles of choking garbage to get it. 

_ Be patient. Be patient. Be patient.  _

He repeated it to himself again and again, making it a command. It absorbed his thoughts so completely, the way things tended to do when he focused all his attention on them, that he didn’t see the figure walking through the alleyway just in front of the one he was in now until he’d been about to jump the chain link fence between them drop right onto their heads. Fortunately, at the very last second, he was able to stop his momentum and instead roll soundlessly behind a pile of full to bursting trash bags, hand clamped over his mouth and silently thanking his lucky stars that he moved so silently. 

There was a heart stopping moment of waiting but no pursuit or angry shout followed him into his hiding place. The other person mustn't have seen him. Peter risked a glance, sure it was just some employee of the cafe next door or just a random passerby, someone wrapped up in their own inconsequential morning routine and that he’d soon be feeling very silly for his over reaction. It was just so hard to shake off the instincts of a hungry orphan who’d had to survive in a place where just around every corner could be a guard who’d kick him in the ribs for fun.

And where death could come from the sky above his head. 

But, as he leaned out and looked, Peter realised he was very glad that he’d hidden. Because it wasn’t just some nameless citizen of Hyperion. It was Juno Steel. 

He was different today, in jeans that were probably ripped both for aesthetics and with wear and a hooded sweater cut just under his ribs so his stomach showed. The combat boots were the same, as were the scabs and bruises from his fight yesterday. In fact they looked worse now they’d had a day to settle in, the one over his eye an especially nasty kind of deep purple. A smudge of eyeshadow in the exact same shade sat on the other, unmarred eye, as if Juno was deliberately trying to make a joke of his injuries. As if he was daring anyone to care. 

Even after only knowing them a day, it was strange to see him without Ben. Peter actually found himself waiting, certain the other Steel twin would appear soon, perhaps out of the store Juno was loitering behind. But he didn’t. Juno was only waiting until the coast was clear before continuing on, moving in pretty much the same direction Peter had been about to head himself. 

Peter waited, breathing shallowly into his palm. Well...he’d been going that way anyway? It wasn’t as if he was deliberately following Juno?

He used all the skills of moving unseen that had been drilled into him by Mag and, before that, the simple need to survive. He made sure to let Juno always be a building’s span ahead of him, using the muffled noises of cars passing on the street beyond to hide the rattling of fences and the thump of his feet on the ground, his eyes never leaving the back of the other kid’s head. 

Before too long, Juno stopped, ducking though a hole in some railings into a narrow alleyway. It appeared to be empty, just steam from an overhead grate and a strong, sour metallic smell. But Juno had the look of someone who’d found exactly what he was looking for. Curious, Peter found another hiding spot behind some very optimistic, scrubby plant, managing somehow to grow in between the railings on goodness knew what. It was easy to disappear into the long, thick shadows of the morning. 

After all, he couldn’t pass until Juno moved on, could he? And if he just so happened to see what he was doing then it was an unintended consequence of simply keeping his distance. 

The scraping of metal took his attention away from his justifications. Juno had hunkered down in the alleyway and was prying up a sewer grate of all things. Like everything else in this part of the city, it must have been old and poorly maintained, Juno barely needed to strain to get the heavy steel disc standing upright. 

Was he going down into the sewers? Peter wrinkled his nose at the smell coming up from that grate, heavier in the warmth of the sunny morning. What could be down there that he’d want? 

After a moment, a small pink nose poked up from the circle of reeking darkness. Peter saw Juno smile and reach into the backpack he’d been wearing, bringing out a small parcel wrapped in a paper towel. Peter’s sharp eyes saw the leftovers of a breakfast, toast crusts and the rind of bacon, a little bit of apple. Smiling wider than ever and murmuring gentle hellos that sounded so jarring coming from the young lady who’d been so harsh to him, Juno began to feed whatever creature could make it’s home in sewers that must have been near toxic given the state of this city. Peter could see a set of tall ears sticking out now, notched and matted with filth. 

Rats in the walls and rabbits in the sewers. What kind of planet had he landed on?

Peter could have moved on, gone back to the main street now his curiosity had been satisfied or over the roofs even. But something made him stay. Something about how Juno’s eyes looked when he smiled, a sight he’d never seen before. How it softened their colour to almost a gold, how they crinkled in the corners in a way not too unlike when he scowled. They just looked so gentle, a kindness in them that didn’t look out of place on his face, the way it should have. It seemed to have always been there, just hidden until now. 

Suddenly, Peter felt a stab of guilt. He didn’t want to be stealing a sight like this, taking it without permission like a thief. 

The irony of that unexpected feeling was something he’d have to file away for now and deal with later. For now, he would slip away silently, braving the noise and stink of the main streets, and try and remember what Mag had told him. Though it seemed to be sitting less heavily in his chest than it was before. 

Same as yesterday, Ben came looking for Peter and found him sitting on the school steps, pretending to read a book on his comms to mask the fact that he was casing the front of the building and trying to decide if the drain pipes would take his weight in a pinch. Effortlessly, with no effort from him, he was folded back into their little group of four, being pulled over to the bench they’d claimed to laze and smoke on and deliberately turn up late for first period. 

Juno seemed as surly and scowly as ever though it was hard to take it as personally, after seeing him spare what had looked like more than half his breakfast for hungry baby rabbits in the sewer. 

Peter found himself stealing glances at him all the way through the day, in the lessons they shared, walking through the corridors with Ben or Mick chatting away between them, back in their little hideaway for another long lunch. Whenever it happened, he’d admonish himself and turn his attention back to something useful like memorising the rotation of the guards outside or seeing which classroom doors had broken locks. First rules of thieving ran through his head, trying to tug him back to his mission with Mag’s fondly stern tone. 

And it would work, for a time. But then there would always be Juno’s earrings catching the light or a wry smile softening his face when Benzaiten made a joke or Mick’s story took a particularly absurd turn or Sasha made a particularly cutting sarcastic comment, his focus as they escaped the school again like he took his task as seriously as Peter had ever taken one of his own. And Peter would find his mind wandering. 

It was like having a puzzle box he couldn’t solve. Peter was so used to reading people at a glance, in being able to arm himself with their insecurities and weak points, weaving his shield out of the strings he could pull to bring them down. Even if they were people calling themselves his friends or strangers who’d never give him a second glance, it made him feel better to have that knowledge just in case. He’d learned a long time ago that people could lie, that danger could come from clear skies. 

But Juno was the only person who’d ever insisted on surprising him. On being more that Peter could tease out of his clothes and mannerisms, everything plain on his face and everything hidden underneath. He was a problem he’d been unable to solve at first glance, a lock that was refusing to open under his clever fingers. 

Peter told himself that was why, when Benzaiten threw an arm around his skinny shoulders as they were walking back to the school after another long lunch and reminded him about the party he’d talked about yesterday, reminding Peter he’d promised to come and jokingly warning him there was no backing out, he only smiled, nodded and said, “Sure. I’d love to come.” 

He told himself it was because he wasn’t leaving Mars while there was a puzzle on it that he couldn’t solve. He told himself it was because he was stuck here for a week anyway and he needed something to occupy his brain while he waited, Juno Steel was as good an exercise as any, like the tasks Mag used to give him when he was younger. 

That was what Peter told himself. But it was the look Juno gave him over his shoulder when he heard him say those words, the look that could have been sour and exasperated, could have been surprised and maybe impressed and could have been all of those things at once, that Peter would be thinking about for the rest of the afternoon. 

After less than an hour at his first party, Peter realised that Mag had prepared him to survive so many dangerous, almost apocalyptic situations, how to save his own skin at the very last moment, how to save a planet, how to play the parts of a hundred different people he wasn’t, down to the bone. 

But he hadn’t taught him the first thing about how to be the kid he was.

At first, Peter had felt a little foolish when Ben had offered to meet him halfway to the kid’s house so they could all walk in together. He knew he was supposed to be playing the shell shocked, anxious new kid and should be gratified that it was clearly convincing but still, something about someone assuming he needed his hand held rankled him. It always had. 

But from the moment they’d stepped over the threshold of the tiny apartment halfway up a rather badly slanting block, into a world of throbbing music, bodies pressed close together, the heady smell of sweat, sweet smoke and spilled alcohol and next to no light, Peter was glad he had some familiar faces to cling to. It was immediately overwhelming, the sheer wall of noise he couldn’t pick apart into useable information, the way people kept bumping into him like he was too insignificant to be worth noticing, how it was too dark for him to get a clear idea of where the exits were or get any handle on what sort of people were currently surrounding him like a tide. 

And it was even worse when, inevitably, the constantly shifting gravitational pull of the drinks table, the small space that had been cleared as a sort of dance floor and the loose knot of kids smoking something that gave off a distinct sickly smell dragged all of his temporary friends away from Peter, leaving him hugging one of the far walls like it was a raft adrift in a choppy sea. Completely alone. 

He told himself he was being foolish. He knew Mag had attended all kinds of balls, galas and events in a hundred different stolen tuxedos and stolen names. Peter knew how to charm people, he knew how to move through social circles effortlessly, he even knew which fork to use first if he ever found himself dining with Venusian royalty. But this kind of party was a different beast entirely, something he wasn’t even sure Mag would have been able to navigate. It was loud and oppressive, the outfits were sparing and caught the moonlight in distracting ways, people were shouting and moving in ways he didn’t understand. And it felt like everyone was looking at him with judgement in their eyes. Not that he cared. 

Peter looked around for Benzaiten and Mick with their reassuring way of putting their arms around him, for Sasha’s comforting, unflappable presence. But Ben and Mick were clearly very preoccupied, apparently drunk without even needing a drop of the many varieties of mind altering substances laid out on the far side of the room, dancing together in a way that Peter definitely didn’t want to interrupt and wasn’t even sure he should be looking at. Sasha had been pulled into a game of spin the bottle with her debate team friends, another thing Peter didn’t want to even approach. 

He stifled a groan, pretending to check his comms just for something to do with his hands and to try and put off the strangers who kept coming up and yelling in his ear to offer him beers he didn’t want. But all that gave him was a depressing look at the time on his screen. Just past eleven pm, they’d been here for no more than five minutes. Clearly coming here had been a disastrous idea; he hadn’t planned for it, he’d let his mind stray off the task at hand yet again and he was paying the price. 

_ You let Juno distract you,  _ a chagrined voice murmured in his mind, somehow making itself heard over the music rattling the floorboards. 

Mouth twisting, Peter shoved his comms back in his pocket and made for the door before any more thoughts could arise. He definitely wasn’t going to be putting tonight in his report to Mag, that was for sure. 

Why this particular voice stood out when everything else was just a wall of incomprehensible, pulsing noise, Peter couldn’t say. Why it made him stop, when he was just a few steps from the door, a few steps away from peace and distance from the humiliation settling heavily in his chest, he couldn’t say either. But it did. 

“Hey Steel, looking for someone you haven’t hooked up with yet? That’s got to be like, what, two people?”

Peter stilled, his eyes drawn over to the drinks table where a kid their age was leaning, a taunting smirk visible on their face even with what little light there was. And their eyes, sharp and mocking, were fixed on Juno. 

Juno had been the first one of their little group Peter had lost track of in the chaos, something he’d been a little relieved about. The other three had been wearing slightly nicer, skimpier versions of their usual clothes, it wasn’t like any kid who went to Oldtown High could afford anything of ridiculously high quality. Peter himself had just exchanged his thrift store t-shirt for one that fit him slightly better, still with the same faded jeans and oversize trainers, something that wasn’t making him feel any less out of place. 

But something about Juno’s outfit had been particularly...distracting. The same fishnets and combat boots as the first day they’d met, the same excessive jewellery and make up but now paired with a black miniskirt dress in some material that shone with a kind of iridescence, cut so the hem of it barely skated the upper third of his thigh. Looking at him dressed like that had brought a blush to his cheeks it had been very hard to keep at bay. So seeing him disappear into the crush of bodies, an expression like this was his element on his face, had been something of a relief. 

But here he was now, looking just as distracting even with a dangerous look on his face aimed directly at the person who’d spoken. 

“What’s wrong, Jones, sore I’ve never come to ask you?” he shot back, taking a long drink from the bottle of beer he’d just picked up, “Sorry, I just didn’t think we’d have a lot of chemistry what with you being a raging asshole and all.”

Something clicked in Nureyev’s mind, a memory slotting into place. This was who Juno had been fighting with on the day he’d come to Oldtown High, the person who’d blackened his eye and split his lip. 

Something similar looked like it was brewing, from the way the kid stalked closer to Juno, until they were toe to toe. They were bigger than Juno by a good few inches, most people were even with the thick soles of his boots, but something flashing in Juno’s eyes made it not matter. 

“I think I should finish what I started the other day,” Jones snarled, “Your face isn’t looking busted up enough for my liking.”

“You’re really welcome to try,” Juno’s lip curled, “See what happens.”

Peter’s eye caught movement at the kid’s side, just another shadow in amongst a room made up of them. They had a bottle too, hanging in a loose grip, Juno mustn’t have seen it and, nose to nose with them, he also didn’t see how it was rising, how their grip was tightening around the neck, how they were about to swing it’s full weight into the side of Juno’s head. 

Again, Peter moved on instinct, seeing danger rising and snapping to attention with no thought other than to act. He surged forward, gripping the back of Juno’s dress and yanking him away, so the bottle missed his face by an inch. Carrying forward with the same momentum, taking advantage of the split second where they were trying to redress their balance, Peter palm struck them right in the nose. He had no muscle to speak of so everything Mag had taught him had been focused on using his opponents movements against them, turning their strength back on them when he couldn’t provide his own. So as Jones reeled back, blood flying from their nose in an arc that caught Peter across the face, he swept their feet out from under them, sending them crashing back so their head thudded heavily on the floor, dizzying them. 

For a long, drawn out second, the whole party had their eyes fixed on Peter, completely stunned, Juno, Ben, Mick and Sasha included. If the music hadn’t still been pounding through every surface, it would have been deadly silent, the whole world shrunk down to this one kid, panting heavily with blood hot on his face. 

What broke it was Juno, reaching forward and seizing Peter’s hand, murmuring, “ _ Run. _ ”

So they did. 

Sheer adrenaline carried them forward as they fled down the stairs, out onto the street and away. Peter’s pulse was a racket in his ears, like the beat of the music was still following them even as they put blocks between them and the party. All he could do was follow Juno, their joined hands as unbreakable as an iron chain, as he pulled him along. The streetlights, the faces of pedestrians, the store fronts around them blurred into insignificance as they ran, he was only aware of the salty taste of blood on his lips and the heat of Juno’s skin against his own. He seemed to know where they were going and Peter was content to follow. 

Finally they burst through some iron gates and were suddenly surrounded by trees, shoes pounding over pathways covered in leaves, the smell of rich earth and damp wood around them, so different from the smoke and stink of the city. When they skidded to a halt, it was in the dead centre of this park, beside a dry fountain, it’s grand curves and sweeping spouts looking strangely sad and barren in the night. 

Peter’s lungs were burning in his chest and he spent some time doubled over, hands braced on his knees, painfully pulling in air. He could hear Juno doing the same beside him though, after a while, his gasping turned into rough, wild laughter. 

Peter straightened up, frowning uncertainly. It sounded like Juno was losing his mind, laughing so hard he couldn’t stand up, sinking down with his back against the basin of the fountain. But after a moment, he found himself grinning too, thin shoulders shaking with his own manic giggles as the mad rush of their escape ebbed away and left them only able to cackle at the absurdity of it all. 

“Did you see their face?” Juno finally managed to gasp out, voice raw, tears actually in his eyes, “You must have broke their fucking nose!”

Peter winced ruefully, sitting down on the gravelled ground beside Juno, “They’re going to be out for my blood tomorrow, aren’t they?”

“Doubt it, it’s me Jones really hates. Sad thing is, it is actually because I wouldn’t fuck them which is pretty damn ironic. Besides, if they do, you can just pull more of that ninja shit out of absolutely nowhere,” Juno snorted, “Where the hell did you even learn to do that? It was like the fence thing all over again, you keep doing the strangest, coolest shit with no warning...”

Peter swallowed, not sure what to say that wasn’t going to affirm Juno’s suspicions about him or reveal more about himself than was ever going to be a good idea, “I just...I just know how to take care of myself.” 

Juno coughed roughly into his fist, finally getting control over himself, “Clearly. Jones was about to brain me with that bottle before you swept in and saved the day…” his expression changed then, something in it tightening, “Why did you even do that? Why not just let me get a face full of glass? I’ve been enough of a dick to you to deserve it.”

Peter dropped his eyes, “You have. But that could have seriously hurt you, they were going right for your eyes. And, well, Jones seemed like slightly more of a dick than you.”

“Slightly?” Juno chuckled roughly, his face softening again, “Well...thanks.” 

“You’re welcome.”

There was a moment of awkward pause before Juno leaned over and rubbed some of the blood off Peter’s cheek with a thumb, “Hey, uh...I do kind of owe you an apology. For...being the way I am. Ben and Sasha, hell even Mick, they’ve been giving me shit about it.”

Peter had to force himself to listen, so much of his brain was laser focused on that tumb against his skin, that touch, “I...I think I get it. You have a really good thing going with your friends and I just showed up out of the blue and changed things.” 

Juno looked taken aback and suddenly the blush on his cheeks could have been his make up or it could have been something else, “Uh...okay. Fair. That’s pretty close to the mark.” 

Peter cleared his throat quickly, realising he’d shown a little more of his hand than he’d meant to. He hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol back at the party, or ever for that matter, and he hadn’t smoked anything beyond what already hung on the air but something about the split second fight, the running and something about being sat here with Juno now was giving him a similar buzz in his blood and lightheadedness he’d always assumed came along with that sort of thing. 

_ First rule of thieving, always keep a clear head _ he thought and felt guilty. He was trying. 

“But Ben basically adopted you, it’s not your fault,” Juno frowned, picking at his nail polish, “It’s not an excuse for me being a dick. Yeah, you’re strange and you know how to do weird stuff and there’s things you’re not telling us...but hell, that’s basically everyone.”

“Thanks?” Peter said with an unsure smile, making Juno laugh again. The lightheadedness got worse then. 

Juno shrugged, leaning far back enough so he was looking up at the stars. They reflected back in his dark eyes, pinpoint sparks in what looked like nothingness but was so much more. For the first time since he’d met Mag, Peter got the sense that someone understood him. That if he told them everything about himself, his fears and hopes, the planets he wanted to walk on some day, the world he wanted to make for himself and why, Juno would understand. Maybe even in a way Mag didn’t.

And he couldn’t say a word to him. He didn’t even know his real last name. 

At that moment, Peter Nureyev could have cried. 

“Bet Benten’s already texted me a million times,” Juno sighed, “Worrying about where I am’s probably really cutting into his making out with Mick time.” 

Peter forced a smile, “We could go back.”

Juno paused then shook his head, voice softer and quieter than before, “Nah. Not yet. Five more minutes.” 

Relief poured through Peter’s chest, even with the sadness still smouldering like embers in his stomach that wouldn’t go out. He wasn’t ready to go back either. 

“Hey, huddle in, would ya, it’s freezing,” Juno grunted, suddenly drawing right up close until his side was flush against Peter’s, even going as far as to rest his head on Peter’s shoulder.

Despite what he’d said, his skin was so warm and he smelled of pot smoke, cheap beer and some flowery perfume. His head was heavy on Peter’s thin shoulder and his curls tickled his nose. But Peter couldn’t have moved away if his life depended on it. 

Because even if he couldn’t have that understanding, even if he couldn’t let Juno really see him, he could have this. He could have these bitterly cold five minutes in a darkened park by a broken fountain with uncomfortable gravel under his ass, blood drying on his cheek and another boy’s head on his shoulder. 

And if that was all he’d ever get, then Peter Nureyev was grabbing it with both hands and never letting go. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter Nureyev finds himself losing sight of his mission

Peter sat and looked at the cursor blinking on the comms screen. It’s incessant, rapid blinking seemed to line up with his own guilty heartbeat. 

His report had been due for half an hour. Another hour and Mag would terminate the entire mission, assuming he’d been compromised and their goal, their planet’s freedom, would be set back who knew how long. Peter knew that and still, he was sitting here, with no idea what to write. 

He even came back to the apartment five minutes after the report should have been sent off though he hadn’t even realised until he was sitting on his cot, looking at the screen. Five minutes, five whole minutes, more time than he’d ever allowed himself to make such a mistake in his entire life. Five minutes that, a day ago, would have had him cursing himself for a failure. Not fit to walk in his father’s footsteps. 

But tonight, he had just sat there and stared at the blinking display, feeling nothing. And now, with more precious seconds ticking away, he still hadn’t the first clue how he was going to explain himself. He just sat cross legged, feeling numb in the fingertips as the realisation sunk in that he’d left part of himself behind without even knowing it. 

It would be so easy to blame Juno Steel. After school, he’d invited Peter to come along with them to the park, just to hang out, that was all, but the fact that it had been him doing the inviting rather than his brother had pulled the yes out of Peter’s mouth before any more sensible part of his brain could interject. It would be easy to blame him for how long he’d stayed too, far past what he’d originally intended. Because every time Peter had thought he should be making excuses, Juno had seemed to choose that moment to smile at him, or challenge him to climb the next tree, or take a drag on his cigarette and exhale long and low in that way that fascinated Peter so much. There had always been the way his eyes looked in the quickly gathering sunset, the way he leaned back against the tree trunks when they’d all made camp in the field that sat at the centre of Halcyon Park, his rasping, barking laugh when Ben would do or say something funny or Mick would be oblivious about something obvious. There had always been another reason to stay, another thing that had led to this hole in who he’d thought he’d been. A hole that was five minutes wide and had rendered him numb. 

It would be so easy to blame Juno for tonight and every other day where Peter had been feeling this way, forgetting why he was here and forgetting his mission. But he knew the blame was on him. 

Because he was the one who was falling in love. 

Those words didn’t sit easily in his mind but there was no denying the truth of them now they were there. With changing his face, his name, his life so often, Peter always tried to know himself completely, mostly out of fear that he’d eventually lose what was really Peter Nureyev if he didn’t. And he knew that he was in love with Juno Steel. 

As inconvenient as that was. 

He would choose Brahma. Of course he would. He’d worked far too hard, suffered and lost far too much to let something like this derail him. What was this compared to what his father had died for, what Mag had been sacrificing?

What has his own silly heart compared to all that?

With that decided, Peter tapped out his report, going into a kind of autopilot as he gripped the guilty feeling with both hands and made himself feel it’s low, shameful burn, like grabbing barbed wire.  _ Mission proceeding. Target will be accessible beginning next week. Holding steady until then. Apologies for the delay.  _

As if to hammer home how foolish he’d been, Mag’s reply came almost instantly, barely a minute after his own had disappeared from the screen to be scrambled, broken, reassembled hundreds of times over in the expanse of space so it couldn’t be traced. 

_ Don’t scare me like that again. Look after yourself.  _

Peter winced and stuffed the comms back into his bag, turning onto his side to face the wall. Two more days. Then he could do his job, go back to Brahma with his broken heart in his chest and remember who he was. 

And hopefully he would have at least learned something. 

Peter tried to keep himself at a distance over the next two days which smacked of far too little far too late but at least he could tell his guilty heart that he was doing something. He didn’t participate in conversation as much as he had, he professed to having a lot of homework when they asked him to hang out with them after school, he told himself that the disappointment he saw hidden behind their expressions didn’t bother him. 

But it was the change in Juno that made it almost too difficult to bear. Peter had never really felt anything like this before, let alone having it reciprocated so he didn’t know how much he was just flattering himself or letting his brain run away with its own fantasies. But there did seem to be something different in how Juno was when Peter was around. 

He was still grumpy and surly, apparently that was his natural state of being, but he certainly wasn’t outwardly hostile since Peter had broken a nose for him. They were certainly friends now; he was part of The Oldtown Gang, as Mick seemed determined to dub them despite everyone in said gang refusing to go along with him. Juno sat next to him when they spent lunchtimes at their camp, he’d ask him if he needed any help in the classes that were supposed to be new to Ransom. Sometimes it felt like he didn’t really need to be sitting quite so close to Peter as they’d sit in their circle and trade jokes and insults back and forth. Sometimes Peter felt like Juno’s eyes were on him, like he was studying his face for something, but when Peter would look, Juno would just be staring at his class notes. Some smiles that Peter caught felt like maybe they’d been meant just for him. 

But Peter told himself he was being a fool. Well, even more of a fool than he already was being by falling for Juno in the first place. But to imagine that he could actually be feeling anything similar was just a form of self torture. Even if there was a chance anything more than one sided could grow between them, wouldn’t he rather not know? It was already going to hurt enough as it was. 

So Peter retreated inside himself a little, going through the motions of a normal day, barely paying attention as they lazed around in their makeshift hammocks and Ben talked excitedly about the overnight field trip they were apparently going on to Olympus City. At least until he felt everyone else’s eyes on him. 

“Sorry, what?” he blinked, blushing a little under the look Ben was giving him, something knowing in it putting him on guard. 

“I said it’s just going to be you and Juno over the weekend,” Benten hummed, swinging his legs, outwardly innocent but the teasing note was still in his voice, “You’ll have to promise to keep my brother out of trouble.” 

“You’re not going?” Peter looked to Juno, who was giving his twin a warning look. 

“Didn’t feel like spending more time than I had to with the assholes we call classmates,” he answered shortly, in the kind of way that suggested there had been another reason that he certainly wasn’t about to give up. 

Peter didn’t need too much of his observation skills, after so long being friends with the Steel twins and knowing enough about the average situation of Hyperion High students, to guess that there had only been enough in their family’s funds to send one of them on the trip and that Juno had feigned disinterest so Benten could have it. He wondered how many times it had come down to that, how much Juno pretended not to care so his brother could afford to. 

“Maybe you two could go to the movies or something,” Sasha said placidly, earning herself a scandalised ‘whose side are you on?’ glare from Juno, “Peter’s hardly seen any of Hyperion. And what he has seen isn’t exactly a glowing endorsement of the place.”

“If you can find me something that is, I’d love to hear it,” Juno scowled. 

“Aw but sneaking into the movies is so fun! And Peter would be so good at it, they’d never catch him,” Mick agreed, prompting Ben to rest his head against his shoulder and regard Juno with a poorly concealed smugness. 

“I’ve never been to the movies…” Peter said quietly, before mentally kicking himself.  _ Do you  _ want _ to be crying your way back to Brahma on Monday night? _

Juno’s scowl deepened and his cheeks flushed, voice rising more than it needed to, “Look, I have plans with someone, alright? I’m busy. So maybe stop sticking your noses in for five seconds?”

There was an awkward silence as he sank back in his seat. Mick and Sasha sent quick pitying looks in Peter's direction, who pretended he didn’t see them as he stared at his hands like all of this wasn’t happening around him. He didn’t care. Why should he care? Benzaiten shrugged like that was the end of it but he was giving Juno a look that was impossible to read. 

And Juno just looked everywhere but at Peter. 

“Anyone catch the game last night?” Mick put in after a few agonising moments, his affable obliviousness always good for bulling past awkward situations, “‘Cos I didn’t, I realised ten minutes before the end that I was watching football rather than baseball, I was hoping one of you guys got the score…”

“Mick, it’s a completely different shape of ball, how the hell did you manage that…”

“Leave him alone, it’s hard to tell from a distance, right babe?”

_ First rule of thieving,  _ Peter thought miserably, sinking deeper into himself while his friends continued on around him,  _ bad decisions will always come back and bite you in the ass. So when one does, know you deserve it.  _

Peter sat in the middle of the bare, empty apartment and organised his roll of lock picking tools. Doing that always calmed him down and it had been a dull, frustrating Saturday otherwise. Just hours and hours of going through the same plans and schematics he’d memorised months ago, showing his path from the fence to one of the first story windows to the principal’s office to the server room to an entirely different window. In and out inside of fifteen minutes, enter with a flash drive full of malware, leave with it full of proof that New Kinshasa and a number of other corrupt outer world governments were laundering money through Martian construction contracts just like the one that had built this school. He’d done far more complex heists than this but with such lower stakes. 

And with his back up slightly closer than across the galaxy. 

_ First rule of thieving, there is no room for nervousness, if you can find some room then you should fill it with more planning. _

With the outside world grey, cold and full of thin SimRain, there was little else to do. His takeout dinner arriving had been the only highlight in his day and now an equally dull night had settled in. 

So he took out the thin silver lockpicks from their sewn in pockets and cleaned them fastidiously, one by one, making sure each type was in it’s exact place. They were a little bit of a novelty, in this age of bioprinting and retina scanners, but they were still called for on occasion and Mag had drilled it into him that no self respecting thief would be caught without the classics on hand. And besides, their comfortable, familiar weight strapped to his chest was reassuring. Like he could never fail as long as he had them close, precisely placed and polished until they shone. 

The knock at the door was so unexpected, so sudden, that he slopped his cup of tea on the carpet, a few dark brown stains soaking in. Good thing he wouldn’t be trying to collect any security deposit. 

He slid the plasma knife out of its sheath, pressing himself against the door with a cold, almost serene focus. He wasn’t expecting any visitors, his food had arrived hours ago. Which meant either the person outside his apartment right now was an innocent, mistaken bystander and would go after a few minutes of silence. 

Or they weren’t. And more than tea would be getting spilled. 

The knock came again and Peter tensed, his grip on the knife tightening. Had he made a mistake? Had one of his reports been traced despite their precautions? Had they found a flaw in his fake records? Either way, his breathing stayed shallow and steady as the seconds ticked by. 

Another knock. And then a voice, rough and tired and very familiar. 

“Ransom? You in there? Damn it, I was sure this was the right number…”

The knife disappeared quickly, “Juno?”

“Oh! Hi...um, hi Ransom...sorry, Ben gave me your address. Can I come in?”

Peter looked around his apartment, wincing. Explaining its state was going to be uncomfortable, it couldn’t look more like the hideout of a sleeper agent than if he’d hung a sign to that effect. But Juno sounded so lost…

He did what he could in the space of two seconds, emptying out his neatly packed suitcase and spreading the clothes around like he imagined most teenage boys did, hiding the papers under a half heartedly done homework sheet. The pile of unwashed mugs in the sink and takeout containers he hadn’t gotten around to throwing away yet helped. 

“Yeah,” he called then, only just remembering to kick his tool roll out of sight, “Come in.”

Juno had a face to match his tone of voice. There were dark shadows under his eyes that had nothing to do with any eyeshadow, in fact he wasn’t wearing a smudge of makeup on him for the first time Peter had known. He wasn’t dressed in his usual way either, in an oversized t-shirt and pyjama pants with a loud cartoon pattern, the same little robot figure from the first shirt he’d seen him in. He just looked exhausted, wrung out and worn down, his lips turned down at the ends. He looked like someone who needed some comfort. 

“Is...is everything okay?” Peter tried not to make Juno’s distress sound as obvious as it was. 

It hadn’t been enough, Juno’s eyes were dark with shame as he stared down at his own sneakered feet and Peter’s slippered ones, “Look, I’m sorry I’m showing up like this. It’s not okay, especially since I...um...anyway, I’m sorry.”

Peter swallowed, “It’s okay. What’s wrong?” 

“I had a big fight with Ma,” Juno admitted, a tremor running through his voice, “She...she kicked me out. And with everyone out of town, I don’t have anywhere else to go. You’ve got every right to tell me to fuck off but...can I stay here?”

Juno and Benten had never said much about their mother. All Peter had been able to surmise, from his observations, was that she was their only parent and there was a huge weight around both twin’s necks because of her. He hadn’t pressed on the nature of it, he had no right to, and it wasn’t going to be any different than it was for so many kids in Oldtown. And more than a fair few on Brahma. 

“Of course, Juno,” Peter said gently, stepping to one side, “Of course, stay as long as you need to.”

Juno mumbled a thanks as he stepped past him. If he found the lack of couch, stream screen, any kitchen appliances aside from a kettle or sign that this place was lived in at all strange, then clearly he felt he owed Peter enough not to say anything. 

“Want some tea?” Peter asked, relocking the door, “I already ate but we could go get you something…”

“No, it’s okay,” Juno said quickly, “I’m asking enough of you as it is.”

Peter sat on his cot and sighed, “Juno, you’re my friend. I’m not going to hold every nicety over your head and present you with a receipt when you leave. I want to help you so just...let me?”

After a pause, Juno chuckled, the sound rough and raw in his throat but it was real. He slumped down on the floor next to the cot, leaning back against it so his head rested close to Peter’s knee, and sighed heavily. 

“You know, there’s three people on the whole planet who don’t take my bullshit. My ma, my brother and you. But you’re the only person I like hearing it from.” 

Peter smiled, though the pace of his heartbeat had increased a little. Juno was so close he could smell the shampoo in his curls from the shower he must have been having that evening. 

“Benzaiten did ask me to keep you out of trouble. Checking your bullshit falls under that, I think.” 

Something in Juno’s expression grew thin and the exhaustion showed through from underneath. There was enough of a pause that Peter wasn’t sure he was going to speak but then he did. 

“It’s never as bad when Ben’s there. Me and her, I mean. It’s like he’s a buffer, stops things getting so nasty. He shouldn’t have to do it, I hate that he’s had to, but… it’s damn effective. With him gone, things just...they got out of hand so fast.” 

Peter nodded slowly. He and Mag had their fair share of blow out arguments too, not that it had ever escalated to him being kicked out. Mag would never do that, he knew what having no roof over his head would mean to his protege, but he certainly knew what it was like to have said things you didn’t know could come from your mouth in the heat of the moment. 

“Has she done this before? Put you out?”

“Yeah...sometimes with a reason. Sometimes not.” 

“There’s never a good reason to do that,” Peter’s voice was more leaden than he’d intended but it was the voice of someone who’d been a child, promised protection by the world, but left out in the cold, “She’s an adult and you aren’t.”

Juno looked at him, clearly curious but he let it go after a moment, picking at his own wound instead, “If I’m not back in her good books by Monday, it’ll be a whole thing with Ben, he’ll feel bad about going…”

“You do this a lot for him, don’t you?” Peter asked softly, “Protect him. Pretend to not care about things so he can afford to.”

Juno shrugged heavily, gnawing on one fingernail covered in chipped polish, “What else am I good for?”

There was so much Peter could have said in that moment, answers that came rushing up to the tip of his tongue, some that surprised even him. But they’d start a conversation he really didn’t want to have, with Juno and with himself. So instead he just murmured, “Lots of things.”

Juno looked at him, something genuinely fearful in his eyes, like he knew exactly what Peter was holding back. 

“Um...I think I will have some tea. If it’s still alright with you. Damn cold outside.”

“Of course!” Peter scrambled up and practically fled to the kitchen. It was hard to say which boy was the more relieved. 

Peter could cope without a lot of amenities when he went out on jobs.  _ First rule of thieving, never care about more than what you can carry in your pockets.  _ But the first thing he’d bought when he’d gone on one of his short, necessity driven runs to the grocery store (a different one every time of course and dodging the cameras so he couldn’t be traced) was a box of good, high quality tea. He didn’t like coffee much, hated the tremble it put in his hands that could cost him his life in some circumstances, but he’d gotten a taste for tea very early on in his time with Mag. In fact, it had been the first thing his mentor had done, when he’d brought the scrawny, skittish, terrified young boy back to his home. He’d put a steaming, sugar laced mug in his hands that it had made it so much easier to believe him when he’d said everything was going to be alright. 

He couldn’t give Juno much to ease his pain right now but there was some pride to be found in gladly giving him one of his few little parcels of sweet smelling, caffeine laced comfort. That much he could do. 

Juno thanked him, hugging the mug close to his chest and pulling his knees in. Nureyev sat back on the cot, folding his legs underneath him and pulling the blanket over his knees. It was getting cold, he’d been right about that. 

After a few moments and a few sips, Juno sighed and said without much surprise, “You don’t have a dad, do you, Ransom?”

Immediately, his shoulders tensed, well aware that he had absolutely no evidence to refute that accusation. And absolutely no back up explanation to speak of. 

“Well…” he began awkwardly, very unused to having no way out of a situation. 

“It’s okay,” Juno chuckled dryly, taking another drink, “I pretty much figured you were taking care of yourself over here.” 

Peter swallowed hard, hand itching around the knuckles. The plasma knife he’d hurriedly shoved back in the holster suddenly felt very heavy, not that he was even going to consider that. He was also not going to think about what Mag would do, what he would urge Peter to do, what rules he would use to make Juno’s life seem a small price to pay for the mission. The same rules he’d saved himself with. 

“Honestly, it’s impressive.” 

Peter froze, “I...what?”

Juno’s cheeks seemed to colour a little and he could have been smiling into his cup as he sipped, “You’re here trying to make something of yourself. Trying to get an education and switch up the shitty hand you got dealt. Granted, you picked a terrible place to do it but...you’re trying. And that’s more than I’ve ever seen anyone do.”

“Trying…” Peter tried to keep his voice steady, “Yes. I’ve often thought that’s all a person can do.”

Juno nodded slowly, leaning back. His head was now leaning against Peter’s knee, enough that he could feel the damp of his hair, the comforting weight of him. He seemed so relaxed, so casual about it all, but Peter felt as if electrical shocks were sparking between them. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so close to someone, had someone touch him in such a friendly way, such simple, easy contact. Only since he’d come to Mars. Only since he’d met Juno. 

For some reason, he felt absurdly guilty. He should be relieved, his disguise had survived even under Juno’s scrutiny who, Peter was beginning to think, was one of the most annoyingly observant people he’d ever met. But in his stomach was just a yawning hollow, a sad kind of emptiness. Like he’d have actually been relieved if Juno had looked him straight in the eye and seen who he really was. 

Like he was tired of lying to him. 

“Hey,” Juno grunted, his voice sounding further away than it had, “There’s another party on Monday night when everyone’s back. You’re coming, right?”

Peter’s throat tightened. On Monday night, he’d be going back to Brahma, back under the glare of the lasers, back in the fight. Ransom would be gone, a few lines of information that winked out of existence as if they had never been, more than dead. That was the plan. 

“Yeah,” he nodded, hand moving over to lightly stroke through Juno’s curls. He’d seen Ben do that on a few occasions and it seemed to comfort him, “That sounds good.”

Juno seemed to tense a little under the touch though only for an instant, as if he hadn’t expected it. But then it was gone and he was leaning into Peter’s hand gratefully, like it was everything he’d needed in that moment. His hair was so soft, winding through his fingers in tight curls that opened for him, parted like waves. The world shrank down to just the points where Peter’s skin met Juno’s, like that simple contact was all that held the universe in one piece. He didn’t feel the weight of a planet’s survival on his shoulders, he didn’t feel like a revolutionary before he’d even had the chance to feel like a person, he didn’t feel the questions he couldn’t ask like bitter metal resting on his tongue. 

In that moment, this was all he had to do. He had to be there for someone else, just one other scared, sad kid like him. 

“Thanks for letting me in, Ransom,” Juno murmured softly, his voice a contented rumble in his chest. 

“I’d rather you call me Peter,” he replied, after a pause where he begged himself not to. 

“Hm? Oh, sure. No problem, Peter.”

It wasn’t the name he wanted to hear from Juno’s lips but it was close enough. It wasn’t a lie, at least. 

“You should sleep now,” he murmured, before his throat closed too tight to mask, “It’s late and you’ve had a long night.”

“Oh I can just stay down here,” Juno said quickly, opening one golden brown eye. Clearly he was seeing that there weren’t many other options. No couch, no chair, not even so much as a rug. 

Just Peter’s cot, the one he was currently sat on.  _ Well, if I’m destroying myself, I may as well do a thorough job.  _

“Don’t be an idiot,” he rolled his eyes like it was no big deal, holding out a hand to him, “Climb up.” 

Juno blinked then shrugged, allowing himself to be tugged onto the hellishly uncomfortable little camping bed. It took a lot of awkward maneuvering to get both of them settled, there was barely enough room for one person, let alone two. By the time it was all done, they were nose to nose, limbs in a tangle. 

Juno was the first to break, snorting, “God, I’m sorry, I feel like I’ve skipped about seven friendship levels…”

“Well, I did break someone’s nose for you,” Peter grunted, trying to shift so Juno’s knee was no longer pressing against his stomach, “Surely that grants me some higher access. Just pretend I’m one of the people you’re courting…”

Juno stared at him for a moment before breaking into helpless barks of laughter that threatened to upend their precarious little arrangement. 

“What?” Peter demanded, flushing pink. 

“Sorry, sorry, it's just...god,  _ courting.  _ I don’t think I’ve ever courted anyone in my damn life. Probably no one has since, like, the 1800s or whatever…” Juno cackled.

“I’ve changed my mind. You can go back on the floor.”

“Nuh uh!” Juno suddenly wrapped both his arms around Peter’s middle, holding them fast, “No take backs now!”

Peter was so glad he had something to blame the colour of his cheeks on, especially when Juno managed to get a hold of himself and chuckled, “God, you’re so cute…”

“Shut up and go to sleep,” he muttered quickly, trying to sound annoyed. 

Juno did, apparently thinking it more comfortable to just stay with his arms around Peter, resting his head on his stomach. They were still for a few moments as their breath slowed and evened out, as the exhaustion clearly caught up with Juno as he realised he truly did have somewhere he could rest and know he was safe. 

With whatever consciousness he had left, he mumbled, “I mean it, Peter. I really needed a friend tonight and you came through. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Peter whispered back but Juno was asleep before he was halfway through, his body getting heavier as his muscles relaxed and he gave himself over. 

_ All we can do is try.  _

It wasn’t a rule but in that moment, as he lay in the darkness and listened to Juno Steel snore softly, it made more sense to Peter than anything he’d ever been told. 

Before he could think, before he could realise what he was doing, he dug his comms out of his pocket and tapped out a message to the only number he’d ever used on this thing. 

_ Plans have to be delayed. Security concerns. Tuesday instead. Apologies. _

He sent it quickly, watching the text disappear, leaving him with a dark reflection of his own face on the empty screen.  _ What have you done? _

Before any reply could come through, he tossed the comms to the floor, rolling over as much as he could, enough to bury his face in Juno’s hair. He smelled of damp and clean shampoo, coconut and clean towels and night air. A honest, planetside scent. 

He knew the guilt was coming, building up in his chest, ready to burn him from the inside out. But there was a whole night in between then, to cling to Juno and imagine a future he could never have, a morning where he would open his eyes and the first thing he’d see would be Juno Steel and remember that he’d done a good thing. He’d been there for someone when they’d needed him. 

Like he said, if he was going to torture himself, Peter Nureyev was going to do it thoroughly. After all, what was he if he wasn’t good at his job? 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter Nureyev has to choose the surname he's going to move forward with. 
> 
> \--
> 
> And we're done! If you've liked this fic, please consider leaving a comment or sharing around! Thanks so much for reading <3

There had been no word from Mag. 

Even as Peter tried to enjoy himself, as he tried to go through a perfectly normal day as Peter Ransom, tackled into a hug by Benten and Mick when they saw him at the school gates, socked in the shoulder by Sasha, effortlessly folded into the easy friendship that filled a hole inside him he hadn’t known was there, that thought lingered. It throbbed at the back of his mind like something infected. 

He’d been unable to look at his comms until way into the day, after Juno had gone back home. Peter didn’t exactly know what he’d been expecting, just that he didn’t want to see whatever it was. 

To pick it up, finally, and see a blank screen had somehow been worse than all of the anger, disappointment and disbelief he’d been imagining. Because that silence said all of it. 

He couldn’t even write it off as something gone wrong on Mag’s end because he got the night’s code, the random sequence of numbers and letters that they’d always used when they were apart on jobs to signify that the other person was safe on a day with no communication. Mag was alive, he was just deliberately not responding to Peter, leaving him with his own guilt. 

There was no way he could know, Peter told himself as he zoned out in his mathematics class and worried at the thought like a dog with a bone, he couldn’t know it had been deliberate, he certainly had no way of knowing about Juno. Mag was probably just disappointed that he hadn’t found his way around the problem to keep to his already delayed schedule, that his usually brilliant protege had stumbled. 

But, left alone with the truth, his thoughts went elsewhere. 

In the quieter moments of the long, dull school day, the urge to get up and just leave, to go and prepare himself and pull the job once night fell and be back on Brahma by the next morning to beg forgiveness would grow. He’d never had his mentor, the closest thing to a father he’d ever know, be disappointed in him and now, even though there were light years between them, the knowledge was bile in the back of his throat. 

But then, when that part of him began to stir, Juno’s elbow would knock against his own on their shared desk or he’d lean in and whisper something unkind but hilarious about their teacher, or he’d yawn and the pull of the tendons in his neck and the sun winking off his earring would catch Peter’s attention. Or he’d feel the unmistakable prickle of eyes on him and look up, seeing Juno’s gaze dart away quickly but unable to hide the mix of curiosity and warmth it had held. 

And Peter would wonder how he was going to leave Mars at all. 

But it was too difficult to think on, each thought sharp and difficult to hold for its own reasons. So none of them would enter his head tonight. Tonight, Peter Ransom was going to have fun. 

Mag had always been impressed with Peter’s disguise work, saying he was even better than him. For Mag, cosmetics had always been just another tool in the thief's arsenal, a way to open doors that wouldn’t yield to picks or signal jammers or had too many guards on them. But Peter had always been able to make simple powders and lipsticks and shadows, simple changes in clothes and stance work miracles, turn him into entirely different people. That was part of the reason he’d been allowed to come here, on his very first solo assignment, because it suited his skills so well. 

But it wasn’t just a matter of skill or talent. Peter genuinely enjoyed watching it all happen in the mirror, watching as his clever hands made him into someone else. Someone who people trusted, someone without his past that felt too heavy to carry sometimes, someone who never felt the need to hide food around his room just in case. It was like getting a break from himself, it was like painting in a way. Peaceful. Serene. Triumphant. 

And he’d never gotten to do it just for the sheer joy of it. Cosmetics of high enough quality to suit their needs were expensive and couldn’t exactly be purchased at any department store, they weren’t for playing around with. It was always training or practise or preparation for work. 

What he had set in front of him now was the cheapest they’d had available in the closest store he dared run to. He hadn’t had time to think of colour or anything like that, he’d just gone on pure instinct, so now he was sat in front of the bathroom mirror with an almost excessively sparkly gold set. 

It felt pretty perfect, in all honesty.

He dusted his eyelids, highlighted the sharp angles of his face, lined his lips all in the glittery foil powder and when he was done, he didn’t feel like he was looking at someone entirely new. He felt like he was looking at himself. Not Peter Nureyev or even Peter Ransom or Peter Anyone Else. Just Peter, having fun with some cheap make up he’d bought just to make himself happy and find a little more of himself in his narrow face that was tired beyond his age. Just a young man getting ready for a party he was excited to go to. 

Peter smiled at himself in the tiny square of polished metal. 

He’d agreed to meet Ben, Juno and Mick part of the way there, they’d catch up with Sasha at the party itself. As soon as he saw the three of them loitering happily on the prearranged street corner, Benzaiten jumped up and careened towards him, snatching him up in a rib aching hug before he was halfway down the street. 

“I missed your little face!” he grinned, spinning them around.

“You already saw me at school!” Peter half yelped, half laughed, clinging to Ben only partly out of fear of being dropped, “And you did this exact thing!”

“Yeah well, I still missed you,” Ben shrugged, letting him go and seeing his face properly for the first time, “Holy shit! Look at you!”

“It’s not too much?” Peter felt his cheeks heating up as Mick and Juno finally caught up with them. 

“Nah, you look fierce as hell, just didn’t know you liked that sort of thing. Hey! Now you and Juno can swap some make up, he’s got loads of glittery stuff like that, right Juno?”

It was clearly in evidence, given the sparkling silver that edged most of Juno’s face, clearly to match the sheer, shapeless metallic dress he’d put on over a hugging black turtleneck and jeans. But Peter was barely looking at all of that, though he’d certainly make note of how much of Juno was on show later. He couldn’t think of much beyond the expression on his friend’s face as his eyes passed over him, the way his pupils blew and his jaw slackened. 

Quickly, noticing his gaze, Juno cleared his throat and roughly said, “Yeah, sure. Anytime.”

“Great! Come on, Sato’s always got the best booze at their parties and I’ve got my dancing shoes on,” Ben beamed, taking his boyfriend’s hand and dragging him in the direction of the house. 

Peter went to follow but Juno cleared his throat, dropping his voice as if to make sure no one else heard them, “You do...you do look stunning, Peter. Really.”

And with that he was off before Peter could even try and form a reply, combat boots jangling as he quickly sped after his brother, who’d clambered onto Mick’s shoulders and was about to slide off right into the gutter. But Peter could swear he’d seen a blush creeping up his neck, under the stardust that sparkled under the too orange streetlights. 

Peter was starting to realise that most parties were the same. Same dim lights, same throbbing music, same too close bodies, same smells of weed and smoke, spilled booze and sweat.

What had changed was him. 

This time, instead of being crushed under the tide of noise and chaos, Peter swam with it. He lost himself in it all, feeling as though his feet weren’t touching the ground as he moved from lounging on battered sofas with Mick and laughing at his stories, to dancing with Sasha on a floor that thrummed with bass, to impressing the surrounding crowd with how he could effortlessly throw and catch a kitchen knife that had been unwisely set out on the snack table. He sang with Ben so loudly that his throat felt raw, still unable to be heard over the clamour, he even accepted a sharp tasting mix of some spirit generously sloshed into a cup of soda that someone pressed into his hand. 

Peter let himself be pulled from one side of the room to the other, head buzzing with electricity, cheeks aching with how hard he was smiling. It was a chemical kind of bliss, a senseless tide of noise and colour that chased all thoughts of his blank comms screen, his mission tomorrow, Brahma, all of it from his mind. It was temporary, it was hysterical, it was so close to frightening and it was exactly what he’d needed. 

There was a slight lull when he collapsed against a far wall and realised his cup was empty. 

“Where do I get more of this stuff?” he hollered over the music to Ben, who he’d been dancing with and was also catching his breath, close enough that their elbows brushed. 

Ben laughed, “I’ll hook you up, come on…”

As promised, he took his hands and steered him through the party to the table where bottles glittered in the low light, their contents gradually slipping away as the night went on and the noise grew louder. 

“Hey…” Ben yelled, once he’d handed Peter another solo up of hissing, spitting liquid, “Can we go outside for a sec? Wanna talk to you.”

“Uh huh…” Peter shouted back, though he wasn’t really paying attention, more admiring how his hands seemed to blur when he waved them in front of him, how his veins seemed to pop with colour under the neon lights. 

But then the room swirled around him again and cold air hit his face like a slap. Ben had taken him out onto a balcony and the party suddenly sounded so much further away when the glass door closed shut behind him, like he’d slipped into another world. Inhaling, the biting, fresh night air chased the cotton wool from his brain and stilled his roiling stomach. 

“What’s up?” he asked, blinking fast, unsure whether he liked this sudden sobriety or not. He took a long drink from his cup, trying to find the comforting lightheadedness again. 

Ben leaned against the balcony’s edge, smiling crookedly, “Kinda hitting you all at once, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Peter admitted, resting his back against the railing.

“Don’t worry, we all remember our first time cutting loose like that,” Ben’s smile became a fully fledged grin, “I remember Mick getting properly wasted for the first time. He tried to climb one of the trees in Halcyon Park but got scared a couple of feet off the ground. I had to go rescue him.” 

Peter snorted, more than able to imagine that, “So...did you just bring me out here to save me from myself?”

“Nah,” Ben took a long sip of his own drink, though Peter hadn’t seen him put any alcohol in at all, “I guess...god, this is going to sound so corny…”

“I don’t mind,” Peter prompted, “What is it?”

“I guess I wanted to thank you,” Ben eventually sighed, breath misting in the air, “I know...I know you’ve got kind of an unspoken, stolen glances thing going on with my brother…”

“What?” Peter suddenly couldn’t feel the cold at all as heat flooded his face, “I...I don’t...we’ve never…”

Ben burst out laughing, so hard he nearly slopped his drink over the side of the balcony, “God, Peter, relax! I’m not giving you a shovel talk or anything, as if I could! No, I’m thanking you, remember?”

“Thanking me?”

“Yeah,” something in Ben’s expression slipped and Peter was reminded of how scared and lost Juno had looked when he turned up on his doorstep, “My brother, he’s...he’s had it rough. For most of his life, really. He thinks I don’t see it, not least because he does everything he can to hide it from me. But I know he has it hard, with Ma and with school and...and everything. And I see the things he does to try and forget how shitty things are and it’s not good for him. He lets people use him because he wants to make them happy, he wants to fix things for them just so he can feel like he’s had a win, even if he got bruised in the process. I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with sleeping around, there isn’t, but there’s sure as hell something wrong with the kind of people Juno chooses. It’s not…” Ben gave a slow, sad sigh, “It’s not good for him. And he doesn’t care that it isn’t good for him, that’s the worst part.”

Peter bit his lip, feeling his hands tighten around his cup, enough that the plastic began to crack. 

“And I’m not saying you have to get with him,” Ben added quickly, “Course not. Whether you’re his friend or...or anything more than that...you’re good for him, Peter. You’re really, really good for him. You make him smile when he talks about you and you call him out on his bullshit and you help him...that’s why I wanted to say thank you. Because Juno’s deserved someone good for a hell of a long time. You show him he’s worth something and...and it’s just nice to see, y’know?”

Ben trailed off, voice thickening. He cleared his throat and shook his head, making his curls bounce, “God, sorry. I’ve talked your ear off for ages and none of this probably makes any sense…”

“No,” Peter said softly, moving closer to Ben, “It makes perfect sense. And...you’re welcome. For what it’s worth. He’s good for me too.”

Ben gave him a crooked smile, straightening up and pulling him into a quick, fierce hug, “Yeah. I can see that.”

“I’ll, um...I’ll see you back in there, okay?”

“Sure,” Benten gave him another dazzling grin, “Maybe not for five minutes or so, though? I’ve got a boyfriend in there I promised to grind on at some point and may as well do it now.” 

Peter managed to hold his grin in place until Benten was gone, becoming just another fuzzy shadow against the pulsing lights behind the glass door. Now he was alone, everything felt colder and the drifting, carefree bliss from before had shrivelled up and died completely. Now all Peter had was a stale taste in his mouth and shaking in his hands as he set the cup down on the lip of the railing and didn’t pick it up again. 

_ He’s good for me.  _

He’d meant that. As the words had left his lips, he’d known they’d been true. Juno Steel was good for Peter Ransom, he could maybe even be good for Peter Nureyev if they were given the chance, the line between those two had certainly been getting thinner and blurrier since he’d started this mission. 

But one of those was a boy who didn’t exist and the other was a boy who had a legacy to live up to, a planet to protect even if he’d never asked for it. 

“I never asked for it,” Peter whispered, that phrase snagging in his mind. He felt tears prickle his eyes as he murmured it to the wind, a heavy weight sinking down on his chest, “I never wanted it.”

Peter had always been told he was special. He was a revolutionary, the son of a man who’d martyred himself so selflessly and had left him shoes to fill and a promise to keep, who’d come from nothing and was expected to sacrifice everything. He’d never expected to have a normal life, he’d never thought to want it. 

But now, it was all he wanted in the whole world. In that moment, he would have given anything to just be Peter Ransom, truly him in more than name, to be someone who could just be good for another person. Someone who could save the boy he loved in small, sweet, human ways instead of being expected to save millions of people. 

“It’s not fair,” he croaked, saying it out loud as if that would mean someone would hear, “I’m just a kid. I’m just a fucking  _ kid.” _

Peter’s breathing was coming ragged now and he pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, not wanting selfish tears to ruin his make up and take that from him too. He tried to run through some of Mag’s rules, expecting the rhythm of them to calm him like it always did, but he realised he didn’t want to hear his mentor’s voice right then. 

What he wanted was to find Juno Steel, to look at him and make him laugh and make him realise he was worth something. And he didn’t want to think about how it might be his last chance to do it. 

So he left his drink where it sat and turned back into the party. 

He had to ask a few people, yelling again to be heard over the music. He found Sasha, ruthlessly dominating at beer pong, but she hadn’t seen him since they’d arrived. He found Ben and Mick, having to shake Ben’s shoulder pretty hard to get his attention with how hard they were making out, but he’d disappeared on them pretty early on in the party too. Worry prickled up his spine as he realised through all of the chaos, dancing and singing since he’d been swept up in it all, Juno hadn’t featured once. 

Images of glass winking under neon lights as it surged at Juno’s face dogged his heels as he looked around more frantically, scanning the blurry faces around him for one with a badly healed nose, bright eyes and a perpetual frown. Finally, he pinned down someone he vaguely remembered from their English classes who grinned when he asked about Juno. 

“Steel? I’d check the bathroom, this late into a party.”

Peter frowned, unsure what they meant but he didn’t like their tone at all. Really worried now, he ran down a quieter corridor, dodging a few couples as busy as Mick and Ben had been, towards the door to the bathroom. He hadn’t seen anyone he remembered as one of Jones’ gang in the crowds but it wasn’t as if they were the only people Juno had fought with. And if they had him alone…

When he found the bathroom door locked, the fear became a physical, bitter taste on his tongue that only felt heavier when he heard a noise from behind it, a sound that was unmistakably a sharp inhalation from Juno, like he’d been struck. He didn’t even think beyond that, he slid the shim he always kept on him out of the inside of his sleeve and set to work on the lock. It was a pretty basic thing, worn with age too, and it yielded almost immediately. 

Peter was about to exchange it for the plasma knife sheathed against his leg when the door swung in and all the breath was knocked from his chest in a single, painful push. 

Juno wasn’t fending off attackers, he wasn’t bent double in pain. His dress was bunched up around his waist, the buttons of his jeans were undone and pushed back to show the top of some silky, black lace underwear. His legs were pushed up and bent at the knee, his face was flushed red and his eyes were glassy. And he was gripping tight to a boy Peter didn’t even recognise, giving the same, sharp inhalation as he sank his teeth into his neck again. They were both too lost in each other to even realise the door had opened. 

Peter froze, feeling his limbs turn to ice along with his heart. He told himself to run, to back off and flee, but it was like his brain and his body had disconnected or the signal had been lost in the flood of agony that raced through him. 

And then it was too late. 

Juno moved back to kiss the boy again but his eye caught on Peter, standing in the doorway. It snapped to alertness, filling with emotions he didn’t stop to try and place. Because then he found his limbs again, the thread was broken and Peter could turn and run down the hall, making for the door, going who knew where, just knowing he couldn’t be there for another moment. 

He didn’t hear Juno calling his name before it became just another meaningless part of the noise.

Peter Nureyev didn’t slow down. He had a job to do and he would do it well, just as he always had. 

He went back to the apartment for his gear, taking a moment to read over the schematics one more time to ensure they were firmly etched into his brain. He dressed all in black, wiped his face clean of anything that might be on it, and repeated his instructions over and over again in his mind. 

And if anything tried to push through that mantra, if anything threatened to make it stumble, it was firmly ignored and pushed back into the shadows of his mind. 

_ First rule of thieving, let nothing distract you from the task at hand.  _

He moved quickly and silently through the shadows, taking back alleyways and scaling buildings where he needed to, avoiding any streetlight or any cameras. He’d memorized their positions of course and he repeated it to himself even after he was past the streets and safely crouched by the school fence. 

He scaled it easily and, if there was a moment at the top, a moment of stillness where memories threatened, memories of a dumbfounded look of awe and grudging respect he’d been glad to earn, then it was roundly ignored and pushed away. He was here to do a job and he would do it well. 

_ First rule of thieving, there is only you and the mark. There’s nothing else you need to consider. There is nothing else.  _

It was too easy as he stole past the glaring gap in the security’s patrol, invisible as he sped across the field and cloaked himself in the gathering shadows around the building. Peter Nureyev slid his shim free and popped open the lock on the ground floor window, pushing it back easily and- _ hands pushing through thick black curls, a kiss bitten mouth, thighs tight around thin hips… _

Peter Nureyev shook himself sharply and deliberately knocked his leg against the windowsill as he slid through. The pain helped him focus, throwing off those memories that belonged to someone else, someone that wasn’t him. 

_ First rule of thieving, get it together, you idiot, or you’ll ruin everything. Don’t you want your father to be proud? _

Linoleum floors would make noise so he went for a light tread over speed as he headed for the principal's office. More locks but they were pathetically easy, barely even slowing him down. The darkened office was empty, of course it was, and he had a full half hour before any guards would even think to come this way. Hacking and coding had never been his forte but, fortunately, more savvy thieves than himself had paved the way. It was a simple matter of sliding the memory stick into the port and unleashing the malignant virus that lived inside it, one that gleefully broke open the ancient firewalls and passwords to get at the tasty things inside. 

Peter Nureyev only touched the keys with gloved fingers after sweeping the whole thing with a cloth so there wouldn’t even be any telltale indents in any dust. Not that he thought the Oldtown police force would have the resources to examine such little details or the brains to even look but he still took the time. That was what made him better, after all. 

The right files were disgustingly easy to locate, the account numbers and details that had been so lightly scrambled that they needn’t even have bothered. Proof that massive corporations, including many in New Kinshasa, funneled their money through projects like this school billions of miles away, assuming no one would think to look so far or in such a dingy little place for their laundering. It came here, was scrubbed squeaky clean and appropriated to new bricks for an extension to the gym they hadn’t even gotten around to building or textbooks that were still hopelessly out of date. So no one would ever guess it was used to build death lasers on a tiny little outer rim world and make hungry, scared kids like him afraid of clear, sunny days. 

And with this information, they’d be able to snatch those resources right from under New Kinshasa’s nose, cut them off and isolate them, ready to strike while they scrambled for new contacts. 

There was a sense of triumph as those files took the place of the virus in his memory stick. I was good, it was heavy and joyous and tasted like gold on his tongue. 

And it was almost enough. 

_ First rule of thieving, the job isn’t done until you’re back in your own bed.  _

Peter Nureyev took the memory stick, wiped the seat and desk clear of his presence and started back out, a different way than he came in, exploiting another hole in the defences by going up to the second floor and climbing down the same pipes he’d been considering just a week ago-  _ laughter, warm arms around him, holding him just because they could, the first taste of belonging as himself and not someone he would grow to be… _

Peter Nureyev pushed it away, hand clenching around the memory stick enough that it bit into his palm through his gloves. The job wasn’t over until he was in his own bed, light years away on Brahma. 

He didn’t much care how long it took him to get there, as long as his feet were off Martian soil before the sun came up. 

Being back at the apartment was harder, with nothing to do with his hands but strip off his clothes, change into nondescript travelling clothes and throw the old ones in black bags ready to toss in the incinerator. Everything of Peter Ransom’s went in there too, his barely full school books and homework he’d never hand in, his tea bags and the barest amount of cutlery he’d used. The fake identification papers, his clothes, his shoes, everything went, ready to burn and remove any trace of him from this planet. 

Until Peter Nureyev was left holding a set of barely used gold makeup, hand hovering over the mouth of the bag but somehow unable to get his fingers to let go. 

Memories of that face in the tiny mirror came to the front of his mind. The face that had seemed like it belonged to him, the face he’d been happy to wear. 

But he’d been a fool to believe in it. A silly, selfish little fool. And he’d be damned if Mag ever learned he’d slipped so much. 

The set made a heavier sound than it had any right to as it dropped into the bag. 

Once everything had been scrubbed with bleach to remove any lingering traces of his fingerprints, there was only one thing left to do. He stood so he wouldn’t recontaminate anything, pulling out the comms and typing out his message. 

_ Saw an opportunity, completed the job. I was careful. Files attached. I’m coming home.  _

He hovered over the button to send, his traitorous fingers refusing to follow orders again. More memories threatened and this time he didn’t have a task to push them away with or a rule to beat them back with. And not just memories, flashes of a future that could have been; Peter Ransom’s future that he was about to cut off like pruning a dead rose and watching the stalk shrivel and die. 

He felt Peter Ransom’s broken heart throb in his chest, just for a moment. It hurt so much. 

So why was it so hard to let go of?

The knock at the door jolted him back to reality. Hissing, he dropped the comms to the bed and yanked his plasma knife free, holding himself ready to dodge blaster fire and make for the window. But what came instead jolted him harder than a full assault would have. 

“Ransom?” Juno croaked from the other side of the door, “Peter? Please be there…”

Peter froze, throat and chest tightening to the point of pain. His heart hammered uselessly against his ribs, panicking like a trapped bird as the seconds stretched on. 

“Of course. Of course you don’t want to talk to me, I totally get that but...please...please just give me some sign you’re okay?” Juno’s voice broke at the end, “I called you, Mick called you, Ben did too but you didn’t answer and...and please just be okay…”

_ First rule of thieving, keep your mind on the job. First rule of thieving, don’t make the same mistake twice. First rule of thieving, don’t open that goddamn door, run, run now, what the fuck are you doing, first rule of thieving, first rule of thieving… _

Juno was still in his party clothes but his make up was smudged and his hair was flat, eyes wide and red rimmed. He jumped when Peter opened the door, though his shoulders slackened in relief. 

“Oh thank god…”

“What do you want, Juno?” Peter asked flatly, trying to keep his eyes from those purpling, mouth shaped bruises on Juno’s neck and collarbone but it was nearly impossible. 

“I just…” Juno began to speak, voice still raw but his eyes fixed on something over his shoulder. He took in the stripped bare apartment, the trash bag, the different clothes, “I...Peter, what’s happening?”

“What’s it to you?” he asked sharply, too exhausted to even care about how badly he was fucking up his mission, everything he was threatening by speaking to Juno Steel right now. 

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” Juno’s eyes widened and his breathing quickened, “Oh god, Peter, please don’t. Please don’t let me ruin this for you.”

“I feel like that’s more in your control than mine,” Peter’s jaw tightened. 

“I know,” a sob burst through under his voice, “I know that, I know how badly I’ve wrecked everything, I know I messed everything up and I know there’s nothing I can say to make it better but I still need to tell you how sorry I am. And, Peter, please, you can’t leave!”

“I was leaving anyway,” Peter cut him off, part of his brain screaming at him to shut up but, absurdly, even through all the pain, he had to say something to try and wipe the agony off Juno’s face. 

Juno absorbed that, face shifting slightly though the pain in his eyes didn’t leave, “This is part of it, isn’t it? Part of whatever you’ve been keeping from us?”

“What are you, a detective?” Peter sneered, moving to close the door in his face but Juno leapt forward, putting his hand against it, close enough to Peter’s own that they were nearly touching. Unable to bear that, too terrified to think what it would do to him, he stepped back into the dark apartment. 

“Look, I’m not asking you to tell me everything, I know I don’t deserve that,” Juno spoke quickly, words tripping over themselves like he knew how little time he had, “I don’t deserve anything from you, really. And...and if you really do have to go, I can’t let you leave thinking my stupid mistake was your fault.”

Peter shook his head, “Juno…”

“God, Peter, I love you,” Juno gasped out, tears spilling from his eyes, “I love you, I’ve been avoiding it since I met you because I knew I’d make a mess of it, just like everything else and I didn’t want to hurt you and I was so scared. But tonight, I just looked at you and...and it terrified me, everything I feel about you because it’s the first time it’s ever felt so real and it was too much. So I did something stupid, I tried to shove it away and I just ended up hurting you more! But please, you have to believe it wasn’t your fault, this is just...this is just the broken, fucked up coward I am.”

Peter tried to take a deep breath but it was so hard to do anything, even the basic functions of living, when his world was shifting around those three words. When he finally found his voice, it came out soft and small. 

“You’re not broken, Juno. And you’re not a coward. You’ve just been hurt.” 

Juno gaped at him, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, “Please...please don’t try and make this better for me, I don’t-”

“Don’t say it!” the words burst out of Peter with more force than he’d intended, “Don’t you dare say it! Don’t you dare stand in front of someone who loves you and tell them it isn’t enough!”

Juno stopped, his tears sparkling the same way the makeup had on his cheeks, a mix of hurt and delight on his face, “You...still? Even after…”

“You can still love someone even after they make mistakes,” Peter groaned in frustration, “Especially if you understand why they made that mistake because you do exactly the same thing…”

“The same thing?” 

“You push people away because you’re scared of what’s inside your own chest because it doesn’t feel like it’s yours. Because it hurts sometimes and you don’t know if the amount it hurts makes the times it doesn’t worth it. And because you’re scared you’ll fail. Just fail, at everything, and you’ll let anyone who cares about you down. So you try and limit that number just so there’s less collateral damage.” 

Juno gave a shaky breath, wrapping his arms around himself, “Yeah...yeah, that’s about it.” 

“You deserve my love. And...and I guess that means I deserve yours,” Peter’s breath shook, the rest of his words coming out wavering, “Which is why this is so hard.”

“Because you have to go?” Juno murmured sadly, “For whatever this is that scares you so much and makes you so unhappy.”

“It…” the denial was there on his tongue, ready, but he couldn’t make it come. And sitting there, it tasted like a lie. Eventually, all he could muster was, “It’s all I know.” 

“But you could tell me, if you wanted to,” Juno insisted, “I promise, whatever it is, I’ll listen.”

“And if it makes you hate me?” Peter mumbled, the fear constricting him. 

“If you can forgive me then I can forgive you,” Juno shrugged, as if it could be as simple as that. 

Peter took a long, steady breath. Doing this would risk absolutely everything, it would be putting the entire planet he’d always worked to protect at risk. 

If it wasn’t Juno Steel, someone who’d worked as hard to protect people as he always had. To the detriment of himself, as he always had. 

It all came pouring out of him so fast, he knew he was missing bits and barely making sense but he couldn’t stop himself. If he stopped then he would cry and there would be no stopping. He told him about the earliest parts of his childhood that he could remember, with all their pain and fear and hunger. He told him about finding Mag, what Mag had told him about his father. He told him about the war, the silent one that had raged with the lasers always watching from the sky. He told him about his part in it, the one he’d inherited and had been struggling to live up to from the first day Mag had taken him in. He told him how he owed Mag everything from the roof over his head to the food in his belly to the skills that had kept him alive. 

“And my name is Peter Nureyev,” he gasped out, at the end of it all, the last thing he could think to say and the lie that seemed to hurt the worst, “Peter Nureyev.”

Juno was quiet for a moment, inahing deeply like he was taking it all in. And finally, a small smile flickered across his face, “Yeah. That name suits you better.” 

Despite everything, Peter felt himself laughing, a wild, uncontrolled kind of laughter that threatened to overwhelm him, “Really? That’s all you have to say?” 

“Well...I did know something was up with you,” Juno shrugged helplessly, “This makes a surprising amount of sense.” 

“And you’re not angry?”

Juno shook his head, still smiling, “It’s not so different from what I said before, is it? You’re trying to do something with the shitty hand you got dealt. And not just that, you’re trying to help other people. Even if...even if maybe it’s costing too much.”

“How could it cost too much?” Peter shook his head in disbelief, “It’s thousands of lives…”

“And you’re just one kid,” Juno’s eyes softened, “It shouldn’t be up to you to change the course of an entire war. You deserve to live your life too.”

“So did my father!” Peter found himself irrationally angry, defensive, but he wasn’t sure it was entirely at Juno, “And I deserved to have him in my life but I didn’t get to!”

Juno seemed to know where this sudden fury came from, he didn’t rise to it, “And if you could speak to him right now...don’t you think his main concern would be that you were happy?”

Peter stopped, the anger leaving him in a rush, exhaustion all that remained in its wake. Suddenly all he wanted was to lie down, to close his eyes and rest for a moment with the comforting lie that in the morning things would be different. Perhaps with someone’s arms around him. 

“So I’m not broken,” Juno said, “Fine. But if I’m not broken, then you’re not a hero. And I mean that in the nicest way possible, Peter. You’re not a hero, you’re a kid. And you deserve to be a kid and grow into an adult with...with someone who loves you.”

“I...I don’t know how to be a kid,” Peter murmured helplessly, “I don’t know how to be a person.”

“No one does,” Juno managed a smile, “But we could learn together.” 

Peter sighed, sitting down on the cot heavily, not caring that he’d worked so hard to wipe his presence from it. And after a moment, Juno Steel sat beside him. 

“You don’t have to stay, Peter,” he murmured after a moment of just sitting together and sharing the same space, “But you have a choice. You need to know that.”

“I don’t know if I want to stay or go,” he admitted after a while, voice small and tired, “I only know I want to kiss you.” 

Juno turned and in the light of a night turning into dawn, he looked so beautiful and so human. 

“I’d like to kiss you too, Peter Nureyev.”

It was such a small distance to cross but it took so much effort. As soon as their lips met, Peter’s inexperience showed, it wasn’t anything like he’d read about or seen on streams. He didn’t know where to put his nose or quite how to angle his lips, what to do when Juno tilted his head. But then again, it was his first kiss and he was just a kid. 

Juno took charge after a few moments, his hands slipping up to cradle the back of Peter’s head and run his fingers through his hair. In his embrace, Peter felt safe in a way he never had before, like he could take a full, deep breath for the first time in his life. Not literally, as Juno slipped his tongue past Peter’s lips and made stars explode behind his eyes. And they were prettier than even the real ones he’d seen. 

It was true, they really were good for each other. 

“Juno…” he breathed with the last oxygen left in his lungs. It would be a good way to go, to expire in Juno Steel’s arms. 

“Peter Nureyev…” Juno returned, his voice low and sweet, “If that’s what you’d like me to call you? Or just Peter?”

He had to think about it, certain names came in certain voices that he didn’t want to think about right now. 

“I’d like you to call me Nureyev.”

He took his time, deciding exactly how to phrase his last message. He didn’t know if any amount of words would be enough to say what he needed to say. 

_ Mag,  _

_ I’m sorry but I won’t be coming back. I’ve attached everything you need to complete the mission and I wish you every success and I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done for me. You saved my life and I won’t forget that. But I need to go and live that life and I’ve found such a good life here on Mars. I’m okay, Mag, I promise I am. If you want to call me and I can explain more, I will and I so hope we can see each other again. But if you don’t want to, I understand. I love you, Mag, like my own father. I don’t know if I’ve ever told you that before but I should have. Goodbye and thank you.  _

_ Peter Nureyev.  _

“That's the last of them.”

Juno set the box in the middle of the room, wincing as he stretched out his back. The pained look didn’t fade when he saw Nureyev sitting on their new, though only new to them, bed and staring at his comms. 

“He hasn’t answered yet?” Juno murmured, expression gentle. 

“No,” Nureyev sighed, putting the comms away and opening his arms. 

Juno moved into them immediately, holding him close and pressing a kiss to the top of his head, “He will.”

“It’s been three months,” Nureyev mumbled against his girlfriend’s chest, “I don’t think he’s ever going to.”

Juno squeezed him gently before moving back and kissing his lips, softly, holding his face in his hands. 

“Hey,” he smiled, “I’m all moved in. Ben and Mick move in at the end of the week. I start the academy tomorrow. You start your apprenticeship at the salon on Monday.”

Before he even reached the end, Nureyev was smiling, nuzzling at his hand like a contented cat, “I know. I’m living a very charmed life.”

“And it’s yours,” Juno grinned, stealing another kiss just because he could, “And you earned it.” 

As hard as it was to pull his eyes away from his girlfriend’s face, Nureyev made himself glance around his apartment. It looked so different, Juno’s few boxes and the decorating he’d been able to do on his meagre funds. It looked like a home now, like something lived in. It was far too small for four people who’d only just graduated and somehow still out of their budget, the pipes were noisy and the heating didn’t work and they couldn’t escape the clamour of the city just outside the window. 

Nureyev adored it. And with Juno standing in it too, sharing the future they’d built for themselves, he loved it even more. 

“I love you,” he murmured, smiling crookedly. 

“I love you too, Nureyev,” Juno grinned. 

He didn’t have a rule in his mind, as he pulled Juno Steel back onto the bed, both of them giggling and stealing kisses happily, seeing how their new lives fit. 

Peter Nureyev was done living by rules. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm super excited about this fic so comments would be so appreciated! Let me know what you think! I'm also on Tumblr, over at @mollymauk-teafleak


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